Omni Honore
by Mattwho81
Summary: In the depths of space Pyrus squad struggles to survive when an old foe returns. This story is a sequel to my previous story In Tergum Cultro.
1. Chapter 1

**Omni Honore: Chapter1**

Through the blackness of deep space hundreds of points of light moved, slow burning comets trailing plasma wakes behind them. They were a motley collection of worn out and dilapidated scows, repurposed to serve as cargo ships, bulk haulers and tankers but by far the vast majority were Pilgrim Ships. The convoy moved slowly between Warp Translation points, just another hop through real space before plunging back into the haunted depths of the Immaterium.

At the head of the convoy coasted a ship that was the complete opposite to the scows in every way immagineable. She was a bloated leviathan, kilometres long and almost as tall, and clad in armour thicker than the average building. Her vast sides were festooned with line after line of guns, vast weapon batteries that pointed out to the stars and a pair of towering Lance arrays.

Even by human standards she was not a graceful or elegant ship, she was a killer through and through built to take damage and give back twice as much in return. She was an Imperial ship of the line: a Lunar class cruiser and her name was "Averof".

Within her bilges and weapon decks thousands upon thousands of naval ratings laboured and died never once seeing the stars but high above their heads beings of a quite different order were meeting. In a spinal access corridor lined with soaring armourglass windows three figures were conversing, the passing crewmen giving them a wide berth as they stared nervously.

The first was a giant of a man in black armour festooned with skulls and bearing both a Crozius and a Rosarius, his name was Wrethan and he was a Chaplain of the Storm Heralds. The second could not have been more different; a bulky and almost square figure in a Red robe, the silhouette was missing legs and instead floated with a faint hum of anti-grav repulsors. Her name was Magos Castabore of the Adpetus Mechanicus and her voice was curiously feminine for one who was essentially a floating box.

The third was of similar build to Wrethan but wearing blue armour, bearing a power sword and also a curious device on his waist: a Psyk-out grenade. The augmetic eye implanted in his face glowed a fearsome red as he talked: he was Sergeant Toran and he was caught in an awkward position between two rival allies.

Castabore was saying, "The security detail around my quarters is inadequate."

Toran tried to placate her by saying, "Magos your personage and artefacts are safe, no less than three of my brothers stand guard by your chambers at all times. The rest of my squad patrol the ship vigilantly, nothing shall endanger your property."

Castabore snapped, "It had better not, I have placed a great deal of trust in your abilities and if you wish our alliance to continue then I expect a successful completion to our journey."

Wrethan seemed insulted by the slur and growled, "We are Space Marines, we do not fail."

Toran stepped in hurriedly and said, "Rest assured Magos, the Storm Heralds place great stock in the friendship of the Mechanicus, we will guarantee your arrival on Mars."

Castabore made a snorting noise under her breath then with typical Mechanicus briskness turned a floated away without saying another word.

Chaplain Wrethan watched her go and said, "Arrogant wench, to think she can command the Divine Emperor's Angels."

Toran replied politely, "Arrogant or not the Chapter needs her support; we cannot risk making an enemy of the Tech-Priests right now."

Wrethan nodded and said, "Thinking ahead as always Sergeant, sometimes you remind me why I value your service so much."

Toran accepted the compliment as Wrethan continued, "I find it most odd she specifically requested your squad as an escort and on an Navy warship no less. Surely a Magos of her rank could have commanded a Mechanicus vessel and Skitarii guards."

Toran knew exactly why Castabore did not want to let other Tech-Priests near her artefacts but was sworn to secrecy on the matter. Instead he said, "We fought together during the liberation of Caminus some ten years ago and we formed a mutual understanding. Tech-Priests are notoriously jealous of their discoveries, no doubt she worries some rival will steal her designs."

Wrethan seemed satisfied with the response and said, "Yes that day was quite a coup for the Storm Heralds and you personally. There is talk you will be elevated to First Company before long."

Toran replied, "I am content with the role the Emperor has laid out for me."

Wrethan replied, "You have done well indeed, you took that gaggle of misfits and forged them into an effective fighting force. Furion in particular has been performing well… I trust you are keeping a close watch that he is not spreading sedition though."

Wrethan was proud and bombastic individual, exactly the kind of qualities a Chaplain needed and none who had seen him on the battle field could doubt his ardour or zeal. Unfortunately Wrethan was also part of a growing movement within the Chapter that sought to break the Storm Heralds free from the rule of the High Lords. They wanted to impose their own version of the Imperial faith upon the masses.

Toran and his squad was vehemently opposed to such a course in every particular and had been quietly working to subvert those goals. It was most fortunate that Wrethan had come to believe that Toran was firmly on his side, an impression the Sergeant was determined to maintain.

Toran was in a difficult position, Wrethan's agenda and his did not match at all but he could not let on that he was anything but a loyal follower. Diplomatically he said, "Not word passes in my squad that I do not know about."

It was true; it was just not the whole truth.

"Excellent" Wrethan said then the turned to stare out the armourglass window at the drifting convoy ships, "Look at them, fools and dreamers all, sailing half way across the galaxy for a hopeless dream of touching divinity."

Toran replied cautiously "They do sing the Emperor's praises, their faith is undoubted."

Wrethan growled, "Only in that petty sham peddled by the Ecclesiarchy, true faith should be a call to action not subservience. Once the Chapter is free of Terra we will show them what true belief means."

Toran looked about and said, "A word of caution Father, this is not a Chapter ship. Such talk is dangerous where we do not know who may be listening."

"Wise words" replied Wrethan, "Come let us walk and discuss other matters."

The pair of them walked along the spinal accessway towards the Averof's bridge and Toran looked out the viewportals at the convoy wallowing through the void. He said, "Tell me Father Wrethan, once we have delivered the Magos to Mars will there be an opportunity to make pilgrimage to Terra?"

Wrethan grunted, "I applaud your fervour but no Storm Herald has set upon Terra since our glorious founding five thousand years ago."

Toran frowned and said, "Strange, our homeworld sits at the heart of the Pilgrim Trail between Terra and Ophellia VII and for millennia we have protected this vital warp route. One would have thought our duties would have called us to the heart of the Imperium at some point."

Wrethan shook his head and said, "The great Sebastain Thor declared the 22nd Founding along with the formation of the Adpta Sororitas and Ordo Hereticus to safeguard the Imperium following the Age of Apostacy. Our duties are to fight the Emperor's foes, not go sightseeing."

Toran found that statement rather hippocritical given Wrethan's goal of spreading worship but kept silent. As they walked they approached a gaggle of Naval officers in their starched uniforms and gold braiding. The men saw them coming and scattered before them almost as if they were afraid of being stepped upon.

Wrethan eyed them as they strode past and then snarled, "Look at them, fearful and weak, it is a tragedy how the High Lords have allowed the Imperium to decay since Thor's reforms."

Toran said, "Did not the Emperor forge the Astartes to lead men for that very reason?"

Wrethan replied, "Lead yes, but men should have the strength to follow, look at this very convoy, there must be over a hundred ships. Once such large flotilla would have warranted a fleet of capital ships, swarms of escorts and relays of Defence Monitors. But what have the Admirality sent, one lone Cruiser and pair of Escort Carriers. It is pathetic how far they have fallen."

Toran was about to reply when suddenly a piercing alarm began to ring through the corridor and the officers and crew about them began running to and fro. The pair of them turned to stare at the viewportals as thick blast shields began to roll over them and Wrethan snarled, "That is the call to action stations!"

Toran wasted no time opening the squad's vox link and shouting, "Pyrus squad this is Sergeant Toran, I am declaring a war footing. Brothers Daite, Halis and Ophelian find Magos Castabore and take her to her quarters: seal yourselves inside and guard that door at all costs. Brothers Furion, Novak, Persion and Jediah rendezvous with me on the bridge."

"We are under attack!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Omni Honore: Chapter 2**

On the bridge of the Averof organised bedlam reined, officers and crewmen shouting and waving at each other as the situation unfolded around them. Yet ship's commissars moved serenely about in black caps, silently reminding officers that the Emperor's eyes were upon them.

Into that commotion Sergeant Toran and Chaplain Wrethan charged, the bridge armsmen moved to stop them but immediately decided against it when they saw two Space Marines bearing down on them.

As they rushed in they saw the frenzy and the turmoil but also that in the centre of the madness stood a single man on the command dais. He alone was calm and unruffled, issuing orders that set whirls of activity in motion around him.

He was the ship's captain but unusually for an Imperial officer he was not weighed down with gold braiding and jangling medals. A simple white shirt and black trousers within a plain gold sash around his waist sufficed for him. He bore a broad naval cutlass on his hip, chipped and blood stained from frequent use.

His name was Captain Georgios Mandas and that alone spoke volumes about the man.

This man had no blood ties to Lord Admiral Dousmanis and he could not call upon the power of an ancient name like Ravensburg, Kisher or Kountouriotis. He shared no ties with the wealthy Von Heinsburg family or even the misbegotten Damianos line.

No Captain Mandas' olive complexion declared he had been born into an unremarkable family then raised in the naval acadamies of Tectum just like a million other junior officers. But where those men had been destined for mediocre lives of obscurity Georgios Mandas seemed fated only to rise and rise. The Imperial Navy was renowned for its nepotism and class prejudices, so it would have been impressive for such a man to command a mere escort frigate but Mandas had done that and so much more.

For a man without powerful relatives there were only two routes to such dizzying heights, the first was to toady oneself to an established political personage and ride their ascent with lavish flattery and sycophancy. The other route was to possess ferocious determination, remarkable skill and an insane amount of luck: Georgios Mandas had all three in excess.

His stunning victories in the Heraculan Deeps and the Serrati Stellas had earnt him a begrudging respect but it had been his audacious attack run during the battle of Sacellum that had set his star in the ascendant. Leading nothing but a pair of Cobra class destroyers he had run the gauntlet and unleashed a point blank torpedo salvo that had finished off the Flagship of the pirate prince Vorshaan. Imperial propaganda had made him a household name and the hide bound Admiralty had reluctantly granted him command of a ship of the line.

Georgios Mandas saw the Space Marines coming and said "Ah our honoured guests, you are just in time", glossing over their breach in decorum by entering the bridge without the captain's permission.

They approached the command dais but stood below the rail, even Space Marines would not step onto a Captain's stage without invitation. Mandas waited until they were stood just below him then he waved at the Hololith and said, "We have hostile contacts at the edge of auspex range."

Toran could read a Hololith as well as any naval officer but this was Mandas' bridge and if he wanted to waste his breath then that was his prerogative. A nondescript bridge officer approached holding a dataslate; even Toran who was considered a reasonable Marine found them all indistinguishable and hadn't bothered to learn any of their names.

The bland faced officer held out his report and said, "Logic engines have a match, three infidel class raiders and one Slaughter Class cruiser, the 'Ixion', last seen under the flag of the Night Lords Traitors.

Captain Mandas glanced at the report then turned to his guests and said, "A fair match, they have speed and manoeuvrability but the Averof is an ornery bitch in a scrap. We will give them a bloody nose before this day is out."

Wrethan did not seem convinced and asked "These are no rabble of pirates but full blooded traitors, do you really think you can take them?"

Mandas replied confidently, "The followers of the arch enemy are savage but rash, if we keep our wits about us and the Emperor sees fit to grant us a little luck we can beat them. Plus we have two escort carriers, the Phylarch and the Choregos might just tip the odds in our favour."

Captain Mandas turned to face the length of the bridge and waiting rows of officers ans servitors as he called, "Prepare for battle, Void shields to maximum, run out the guns, refresh Hololith every five seconds. All stations report combat status."

Random officers from around the bridge started shouting back, "Helm responding."

"Astrogation: ready."

"Sensorium standing by and Hololith has been blessed by both Tech-Priests and ship's clergy."

"Engineerium: plasma reactors running smoothly."

"Void Shields at full strength."

"Weapons batteries locked and loaded!"

"Torpedoes armed Captain."

"Lances charged; just give us one clear shot!"

Mandas nodded in satisfaction then declared to the whole bridge, "Our mission is clear, we have been ordered to get this convoy to safety and we shall do so. Communications signal the flotilla to maintain formation and make for the Warp translation point. Then hail the Phylarch and the Choregos and order them to stand by but keep out of weapon range. Helm, bring the Averof about and put us between them and the enemy, we will take them head on."

With a rumble throughout the decks the great ship swung about and pulled away from the convoy, her mighty guns promising swift death to anything that lay before them. The Averof was a mighty and disciplined engine of war ready for battle sadly the same could not be said of the convoy ships wallowing behind them. As the Cruiser moved off the scows behind began to break formation, each captain fleeing in whatever direction he deemed best.

On the bridge of the Averof an officer Toran didn't recognise leapt up from the sensorium and yelled "Captain the convoy ships are panicking, they are drifting out of formation!"

"Damn those yellow bellied cowards!" shouted Mandas, 'Transmit a message in the clear, all ships Commissars are hereby ordered to shoot any Captain who does not immediately return to formation."

In the Hololith the drifting icons slowly stopped scattering then haphazardly drifted into something resembling a formation, it was loose and sloppy but it would have to do. Watching from below the dais Wrethan commented to Toran, "Perhaps this man does have some fire in his belly after all."

Toran's response was cut off as another nondescript officer cried out, "New contacts! New contacts, Infidels are launching! I say again we have torpedoes hot and in the void!"

Mandas stared into the Hololith and declared, "Too rash, too rash by half, they launched from too far away and lost the element of surprise."

He sternly gave his commands, "Signal Escort Carriers I want a squadron of fighters launched immediately to intercept those torpedoes."

The communication officers bent to their stations but after less than a minute one of them turned ashen faced and cried "Captain, Phylarch and Choregos regret to report they were fitting for a bomber launch. Fighters will not be ready in time."

Concern and apprehension swept the bridge but the Commissars loomed over the stations and naval discipline held. Meanwhile Mandas grabbed a cogitator and began running navigation vectors through it.

Standing below him Wrethan snarled, "Damn that scum, those carrier officers should be given punishment duty for incompetence."

Toran dryly commented, "I believe in the Imperial Navy few duties are more considered more humiliating than escort carrier duty."

Wrethan growled, "Then they should be whipped!"

Suddenly Mandas threw down his cogitator and yelled, "Helm bring us to starboard, steer course 015' by 002' degrees, three quarters thrust!"

Wrethan stared into the Hololith and said in disbelief, "What in the Emperor's name is he doing?"

Toran replied in amazement, "He is steering the Averof into the torpedoes' path, he's going to take the hit so the convoy will not."

Wrethan sounded surprised as he said, "Unexpectedly brave."

"I appreciate the compliment but I do not intend to die today" said Mandas overhearing them,"Ordnance, open forward tube doors and fire torpedoes!

The crew ran to obey and a minute later a deep rumble ran through the length of the entire ship as six gigantic cylinders leapt from the reinforced prow leaving trails of plasma wake behind them. Wrethan stared into the Hololith and watched the icons inch slowly across space as they tracked the Torpedoes flight, he muttered under his breath, "Has he gone mad?"

Toran was equally baffled and replied, "The line between madness and genius is often measured by success."

All they could do was stand there and watch as the minutes crawled past. The ordnance was travelling at fantastic speeds but space was truly vast and naval battles were commonly fought at distances of tens of thousands of kilometres.

The torpedoe salvoes flew through the void drawing inexorably closer together in a deadly arc but when they finally intercepted their primitive machine spirits awoke and began firing manoeuvring thrusters. The torpedoes' course began to curve as they tracked around and their counterparts in the oncoming salvo also responded and began to turn too. In flash they passed by each other but instead of soaring onwards they spun about on their axis and tried to turn around.

The vastness of space made the chances of even two of them impacting inconceivably small but they swirled around each other in a strange pirouette. The circling dance swept them out into deep space and they drifted into the void locked into an eternal spin.

On the bridge of the Averof the crew erupted into cheers of jubilation, Toran found it a little slack compared to his Chapter's own discipline but could not fault their enthusiasm.

Captain Mandas leaned over the command rail and casually said, "It is a little known fact that a torpedo's auspex can be easily confused. If they encounter another auspex sweeping on the same frequency they mistake it for a ship's energy output and waste themselves trying to lock onto something that is not there."

He straightened up as Wrethan muttered, "Is he saying he just shot the torpedoes out of the void?"

"It would seem so" replied Toran rather impressed by the performance.

Above them Captain Mandas was shouting new orders, "Now it is our turn to teach the foe a lesson, signal Phylarch and Choregos to launch those bomber waves."

"Target the Infidels, let us even the odds."


	3. Chapter 3

**Omni Honore: Chapter3**

Through the void deadly killers flew free, each a tiny pocket of life for their crews amidst the cold emptiness of space. From their bulky hulls multiple barrels of defense turrets protruded and in their missile racks rows upon rows of plasma warheads glinted.

They flew in a loose V formation, cruising towards their targets like soaring birds, they were Starhawk bombers and they were on the hunt. Behind them the Phylarch and the Choregos were dwindling into tiny specks, they beat a swift retreat because with their strike wings launched they were now practically helpless.

In one of the rearmost Starhawks a young woman sat strapped into the pilot's throne, her skull fitted with neural jacks and her flight suit pumping life support fluids through her system. Her name was Syma and was the ranking officer aboard Starhawk Delta 7.

Syma gripped the control column tightly as the engines flared brightly at the edges of her cockpit windows. Her nervousness was not solely for the looming prospect of death, this was her first flight as a bomber captain. True she had flown dozens of strikes as a copilot and hundreds of simulations since, yet the simulators never quite captured that heady sense of danger and power that came with every mission.

She lifted one hand from the column to tap the bulkhead by her helmet where a pict image was pinned down. Her family had a long naval tradition and she had much to live up to, true her father may have lived long enough to merit a desk job but every one of her uncles and cousins had died in the cockpit.

Syma swore she would not fail her family's legacy this day and would return home having made her father proud. She was ready and Delta 7 was running smoothly, her spirit eager and ready for the fight ahead or so Syma told herself.

She glanced over to her side and saw her new co-pilot sweating, he looked so young and green, strange to think he was only three years her junior. Kyros was novice pilot on his first run, fresh out of the flight schools of Tectum and it did not speak well of his final scores that he had been assigned to Escort Carrier duties. Syma wondered what it said of her prospects that she too had been given the same deployment.

Syma reached out and punched Kyros in the arm saying, "Are you ready rookie?"

He replied "I am ready" but looked like he was going to throw up into his domed helmet.

Syma frowned and said, "Did you go to the pilot's brothel like I told you to?"

He shook his head and said, "There was no time".

Inwardly Syma cursed, brothels were technically prohibited on ships but the Imperial Navy gave its pilots a lot of latitude. Given their life expectancy nobody objected to them grabbing life and squeezing out everything they could.

Ancient superstition held it was bad luck to fly with a crewman who had not lost his virginity and now she was stuck with his bad luck. For moment she wondered if she should have just dragged him into a bunk herself while she'd had the chance, but shook off the thought: he was her junior pilot and that was a recipe for trouble.

Syma shook off her worries and concentrated on her flying, focussed on holding her place in the formation. Suddenly from the back of the cockpit her logistics officer, Jannes called, "Signal from the Flag: Alpha, Beta and Gamma squadrons will target one frigate apiece. Delta squadron to reduce thrust and hold in reserve to pick off stragglers."

Syma cursed she had wanted her first flight as commander to end with a confirmed kill but orders were orders. She reached out and grabbed the thruster levers and pulled them back a fraction. It was a tiny reduction but enough to let them drop back, then she said, "Signal our compliance."

Around her Delta Squadron fell back as the bright contrials of the other squadrons pulled ahead, soon they had shrunk into tiny points of light themselves.

From the nose cone, Bombardier Baruch spoke up, he was a grizzled veteran with more experience than all of them put together. Yet he was a man living on borrowed time and everybody knew it, a man of thirty had no business being in a strike craft for he was believed to have used up his allotment of luck and then some.

Baruch called "Were not going to see any action this time are we?"

Syma replied, "Patience everybody our turn will come."

"When?" asked Kyros with a quiver in his voice.

"Relax" Syma said, "Don't get overexcited or you might pop your cherry early before we can get you to a brothel."

Over the vox the rest of the crew chuckled at the lewd joke and she saw Kyros scowl at the teasing, but he least he was distracted from the coming battle. Then suddenly Jannes called, "First wave commencing attack run."

Ahead she could see flickering lights in the blackness and knew that men and women were fighting for their lives out there. She could picture it in her mind's eye, the lashes of tracer fire, the contrails of missiles, the crushing G-forces of pilots evading and the bright flares of explosions as they failed and died.

Suddenly there was a magnesium flare in the darkness as a massive explosion ignited ahead, Kyros shouted, "They got one!". Then there was a second flare and he cried, "Two! that's two!"

Syma gripped her column tightly and growled, "Two but not three."

Behind her Jannes called, "Signal from the Flag, two Infidels destroyed but Beta Squadron have taking a mauling and are falling back. Delta squadron is ordered to finish the job."

Syma said, "Take heart lads, this is our chance, today we earn our wings!"

Relentlessly Delta squadron ploughed on closing on their target and around her Syma could hear the familiar sounds of her bomber preparing for the attack run. In the engine compartment the Tech-priest and his Engineseers were blessing the drive coils while the gunnery servitors crackled in their turret sockets seeking threats.

The consoles chirped and bleeped as she unlocked the arming toggles and flipped the ten switches beneath, awakening the machine spirits of the warheads and readying them for war. From behind her Jannes called, "Signal from squadron commander: We are in position, commence attack run."

Syma grinned as she opened up the throttles and Delta Seven leapt forwards, powering towards its target like and avenging angel. Before them the Infidel was a tiny glowing dot in the black, but from it came the first flickers of tracer fire. It was a light rain at first, barely noticeable but then they crossed an invisible line and everything changed.

As the squadron approached the Infidel unleashed everything it had, firing off defence turrets, las canons, flak rounds and missiles all at once. Space seemed to fill with exploding ordnance creating a deadly maelstrom of fire and light in the Starhawks' path.

Syma wrenched the control column randomly left and right, up and down in a crazed evasion pattern, desperately seeking a clear path. She flew instinctively in a way no machine mind could ever emulate, keeping her movements random and unpredictable. This was pure anticipation for there was no time to respond, if she saw something headed their way it would be too late to avoid it.

From the corner of her eye Syma saw a sparkling light beside her and knew one of her fellow crews had just been swatted out of the void by a lucky hit. Another and another flared in the dark, each twinkling light signifying the death of brave pilots and good crew in a moment of pain and terror.

"Permission to launch" called Baruch from the nose cone.

"Wait till we are closer" called Syma knowing she could not fail her family during her first command, she did not just want the kill, she NEEDED the kill.

On and on through the maelstrom Delta squadron flew daring the gauntlet of fire then at the right moment the other survivors unleashed their missiles, fiery contrails soaring away as the Starhawks desperately pulled up. Instantly the tracers switched targets to cross space before them, tiny pinpricks of light showing missile after missile being picked off as the turret fire annihilated them.

Baruch yelled "Permission…"

"Denied" roared Syma clinging on fiercely, she could see the target filling her cockpit window and could taste the kill on her tongue.

Closer and closer the enemy loomed until the Infidel became a mountain before them, appearing massive and invincible, in space terms they were at absolute point blank range.

"Were too close" screamed Kyros in panic, "Were too close!"

Syma waited a heartbeat longer then shouted, "Launch!"

With a clank that resounded through the bomber ten plasma missiles detached and roared away becoming ten bright stars in the cockpit window. Syma hauled back on the controls and pushed the engines to maximum trying to break free.

Ferocious G-forces broke through the inertial compensators and pressed her back into her seat but she still kept one eye on the rear view screen. Behind them streams of tracer fire turned space into a tapestry of light but the tiny warheads slipped through. They had launched from point blank range and the frigate had no time to respond.

Ten missiles dived through the web of defensive fire to impact onto the ship and ten massive balls of plasma were born within the escort's hull. Thick armour melted in an instant as fuel, ordnance and crew were incinerated in the star hot inferno.

One second the Infidel sat proud and strong in the void the next it became a massive ball of fire expanding through space and throwing waves of metal and plasma all around it. The explosions filled space itself, creating a minute star and Syma gasped as she saw it white out the rear view screen.

She opened up the throttles beyond the red lines and gritted her teeth as she pushed the Starhawk to limit in her desperation to escape the oncoming tidal wave.

It was futile, they had flown too close to the sun and now would pay the price. The plasma wave swept through space and enveloped the tiny bomber without even slowing down.

Syma had time for one last scream as her Starhawk and her entire crew were incinerated around her and reduced to a cloud of floating atoms in the vacuum.


	4. Chapter 4

**Omni Honore: Chapter4**

On the bridge of the Averof an uncommon quiet reigned, officers stood in rapt attention as they stared at the swirling images in the Hololith. Within the three dimensional space icons swirled and looped, representing the flight of bomber squadrons as they set upon the enemy frigates.

Every time one of the small pixels turned red and faded there was the sharp sound of men wincing under their breaths. Time and time again the icons vanished leaving the enemy untouched.

It seemed the attack had failed but then suddenly one of the enemy symbols winked red and vanished, then another but the crew did not cheer, not yet. They watched the final drama play out as the last frigate fought on but then suddenly it too vanished leaving a pitiful handful of bomber icons behind.

The bridge crew cheered as officers punched the air and the ship's clergy directed their choirs to begin a hymn of thanksgiving from the rafters. Into that commotion strode four more Space Marines, Novak, Furion, Jediah and Persion blowing past the naval armsmen leaving them impotently in their wake.

They looked about and saw their Sergeant and Chaplain standing by the command rail then marched over and saluted.

"What have we missed?" asked Persion breaking the formality of the moment.

Toran replied, "The navy bombers just took out the enemy escorts but suffered severe casualties, less than half of them will be coming back. Now its just the Averof and the Ixion, one against one."

The squad gazed into the Hololith and young Novak said, "We are out of position, the Captain has drifted too far to starboard."

""No" Furion corrected him, "You have neglected the unique nature of naval gunnery, it is far easier to hit a ship that is closing than one moving abeam. Captain Mandas has perfectly positioned the Averof to swing about to port and cut across the Ixion's bow, he's going to 'Cross the T' and give them a close ranged broadside right in the face."

Indeed above them on the command dais Captain Mandas was calling out, "Helm you may make your turn, bring the bow around hard to port." Around the bridge gaggles of officers rushed to obey and stars wheeled outside the viewportal as the great ship turned ponderously about.

Novak was looking at the Hololith in puzzlement and said, "Am I the only one who finds it odd the Ixion isn't trying to come about, her broadside lances could give us a mauling at long range but she is just rushing forwards."

Furion replied, "Never underestimate your foe's intelligence, they don't want the Averof they want the convoy. They will run the gauntlet and try to break past us, once in among the cattle their lances will tear those scows apart."

Novak wouldn't let it go though and said, "Correct me if i am wrong but doesn't that mean the Ixion will rake us with her forward weapon batteries before our broadsides have the angle?"

Captain Mandas had clearly been listening in for he gripped the rail and said, "There is no victory without risk, we shall pass thorugh the shadow of death and live to see the light on the other side."

For long minutes they stood watching the icons move together on the Hololith and Toran found himself counting down the ranges in his head. Their courses were set and it was too late to turn back now, then suddenly a voice called out from the pits of the sensorium, "Energy surge detected the Ixion is preparing to open fire!"

Mandas declared loudly for all to hear, "Stand firm men, hold your nerve and we will ride this out and someone close that damn window!"

As thick armour louvers closed over the viewportal Toran couldn't resist saying , "Shouldn't we brace for impact?"

Mandas replied firmly, "No we need the power for our return salvo, have faith in the Emperor and trust in the Averof: she will see us through."

Far ahead the prow of the Ixion lit up as her weapon batteries unleashed their fury, hurling shells, missiles and las blasts in a wave of annihilating power. They raced through space and engulfed the Averof in a cloud of destruction causing Electro static energy to wreathe the ship. The void shields absorbed and shunted vast amounts of energy harmless away making the Averof look like an inverted snowglobe against the black of night.

Around the bridge violent tremors and static discharges danced everywhere, a terrible stink filled the air as servitors were electrocuted by feedback and finally allowed to die. There was no kinetic energy to the attack but the energy surges overloaded the gravity generators and men were thrown from their feet as the ship experienced violent bucking motions. Lights blew out and emergency lumens cut in turning the bridge into a dim smoky cavern, rocked by violent thunder and lightning.

Then the moment passed and silence fell as the deluge trickled off and the Averof sailed through untouched: the shields had held true.

"You proud beauty" Mandas yelled slapping the Averof's rail in triumph, "Now transfer all power to the weapon systems, I want a double barrage as we cross the Ixion's bow. Gunnery officers: Lock On target!"

The crew rushed to obey and in the gunnery pews row after row consoles turned green in readiness. Mandas waited for a long minute until the vectors were just right then shouted, "Open fire!"

Now the Averof unleashed its power, its starboard flank erupting with such force the entire ship was shunted sideways. A waterfall of firepower hurtled away from the ship in a ceaseless torrent hitting the Ixion full on over its prow.

A crescendo of explosions broke over the Ixion's shields like a great wave, spilling up its flanks to cover the entire length of the ship in blue lighting. Energy arced and danced over the void shields making them seem to shrink inwards towards the hull but though they bent they did not break and the Ixion ploughed on unharmed.

On the Averof's Captain Mandas was roaring, "Reload you Fethwipes, hit them again!" but the gunnery consoles were flashing red lights everywhere.

A frantic officer turned about and shouted, "Captain, gunnery crews report the weapon batteries are running too hot, they need more time to reload."

Mandas merely grabbed a vox horn from his rail and commanded, "Pipe me through ship wide!"

He gazed into the distance and his words rang out through every deck of the ship, "Men of the Averof, the whole Imperium knows that you are stout of heart and true to the Throne. And as loyal men each of you knows the day shall come when your soul stands before the Golden Throne and the Emperor shall ask; what you have done to earn your place by His side."

Mandas practically shouted the next words, "And you shall say: I Was There! I was there the day the Averof punished the Ixion for its treachery! Now put your Fething backs into it and load those damned guns!"

The bridge crew cheered at his rousing speech and Toran watched on as a single console changed from red to green. Then another and another faster and faster until every pew was wreathed in jade light. A jubilant officer stood up and declared, "Weapon batteries loaded, we are Locked On!"

Mandas pounded his fist upon the command rail and yelled, "Well done my brave lads, now hit them again!"

A second storm of shells erupted from the side of the Averof and engulfed the Ixion at point blank range. A tsunami of las, plasma and shells impacted on her forward bow engulfing her shields and making them turn opaque.

Giant arcs of lightning spilled into space and the enemy ship writhed in the torrent of destruction. Then in an electromagnetic explosion the shields collapsed leaving the Ixion defenceless.

On the bridge Captain Mandas seized the moment and yelled, "Fire Lances!"

From the Averof erupted columns of coherent light, each one metres thick and miles long, they speared out at the speed of light and plunged into the Ixion's defenceless hull. One of them hit low cutting through compartment after compartment, incinerating barracks, blowing out magazines and severing power conduits as it melted through.

The other hit high on the spinal array, amputating auspex towers and communication arrays, it cut through tower after tower until it reached a defiled cathedral halfway up the ship. It melted through the outer facing and stabbed inwards interrupting a debauched celebration of the Prince of Excess. The lance beam incinerated all within and ended an orgy that had lasted eight hundred years in less than one second.

On the the Averof the bridge erupted in cheers as the officers and crewmen cried out at their success. Even the Space Marines were not immune and young Novak bellowed, "A hit! A most palatable hit!"

Captain Mandas was roaring at the sight of the enemy's wounds and cried, "Double rations of Grog tonight lads!"

The atmosphere was heady indeed but amid the joy and huzzahs one man stood firm and resolute, not celebrating at all but glowering at the Hololith. Toran turned to him and said, "Chaplain Wrethan is something amiss?"

Wrethan said, "The enemy is wounded but not crippled, yet they have not returned fire. They have a clear shot at our stern so why do they not respond in kind?"

Toran glanced at the Hololith and saw what only Wrethan had realised, the Averof had moved forwards and the Ixion had crossed its stern but it was not firing. As he watched he saw the icons begin to shift and realised the Ixion was swinging to starboard and accelerating, the gap between the two cruisers was closing fast.

With horror he realised the truth and saw the deadly danger they had just walked into. He shouted over the noise, "Captain Mandas, you must come about, come about now!"

Captain Mandas looked at Toran and said, "Do not panic good sir, we can weather the storm of their broadsides. We need to get clear before we can turn and set up for another pass."

Toran practically shouted up at the Captain, "You don't understand there will be no broadside, we all made a mistake when we assumed they were after the convoy but their target was always this ship: they want the Averof!"

Mandas frowned in confusion and said "What are you talking about?"

Toran roared, "Look at the Hololith, the Ixion is closing and matching velocities."

"The Traitor Marines are closing for a boarding action!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Omni Honore: Chapter 5**

In the midnight sky two leviathans moved in tandem, each one a kilometres long bastion of armour, guns and engines. They drifted together like slow moving dancers but their partnership was marred by violence.

From one ship streams of boarding pods, grappling claws and armoured shuttles dived to deliver a deadly cargo. The other spat turret fire into the void seeking to destroy as many of the invaders as possible. Pods exploded, claws were severed and shuttles blew into flaming debris but it did not matter, for every intruder destroyed five more would take its place.

On and on they came then suddenly boarding pods were punching deeply into the ships' guts and shuttles dove down to latch on. All over the Averof thousands of filthy men, disgusting mutants and bizarre spawn spilled forth setting upon any crewmen they found in a wave of stabbing madness. On every deck men threw down tools and grabbed weapons in a desperate attempt to fight back.

High on the spinal access corridor a wave of shuttles cut through the hull to disgorge waves of invaders right outside the sealed doors of the bridge. They were met by teams of naval armsmen and embedded gun servitors but their deadliest warriors had yet to be unleashed.

From among the multitude strode five giants in midnight hued plate, embossed with lightning and grissly trophies. The armsmen unleashed shotguns and stubber fire but the invaders waded through the incoming fire effortlessly, rounds pinging harmlessly off their ceramite plate.

Contempt was written in their every movement from their easy strides to the bulky weapons in their fists that blew mere men apart with every bolt fired. In moments they had crushed all resistance and the invaders surged onwards until they met the thickly armoured doors of the bridge itself. The Chaos Marines pulled back to let one of their number forwards, he bore a daemon mouthed Meltagun in his hands and immediately set to cutting a opening in the hatch.

Beyond the hatch Captain Mandas was standing by small reliquary while he strapped on his carapace armour and a plain helmet. Around him the bridge crew were grabbing shotguns and bayonets while Pyrus squad directed the establishment of barricades and cross fires.

Mandas drew his signature cutlass and a blunt las-pistol from the reliquary but he was frowning as he was addressed by Chaplain Wrethan,"Captain I must protest, you are too valuable to stand on the front line. At the very least you should be behind your junior officers, let them die first."

Mandas pulled on a vambrace and replied, "This is my ship and I will not ask my men to fight any foe I would not face myself."

Wrethan's annoyance was evident in the voice emanating from his skull helm as he said "You cannot expect us to stand by and watch you get yourself killed."

"Then get off my ship!" Mandas snarled, "The day I will not fight with my men is the day after I am dead!"

The crewmen were roused by the Captain's defiant words but were hushed as Sergeant Toran said, "Captain do not underestimate this foe, these are not normal men you face, Astartes are coming through that door."

Those words dropped an awful pawl on everyone, the prospect of facing Chaos Marines creating a shocked silence and crushed their morale.

"Ah" said Mandas, "That changes things."

He reluctantly put his laspistol back in the reliquary, then his hand moved to another compartment and drew forth a bulky Plasma pistol. He held it aloft for all to see and said, "Now I am ready."

He turned to face the assembled crew and declared, "Men, the Averof may be a cantankerous bitch but she is OUR cantankerous bitch and we will not let her fall without one hell of a fight!"

The men's morale soared at their Captain's declaration and they gritted their teeth for the fight to come. They took shelter behind raised plates torn from the decking and there they waited. For long minutes the trail of Meltafire described a wide archway in the bulkheads but all too soon it was complete and the doors fell inwards.

From the smoking ruins a crowd of baying mutants charged forwards screaming in rage, they were met by a wall of shotgun and bolter fire that tore them to shreds. Twisted bodies and rusty weapons fell to the decks in oozing heaps of gore but this was just the chaff sent to soak up the deluge.

Behind them followed a far greater threat, over muscled brutes mixed with the nightmarish silhouettes of Chaos Marines. The foe raced through the oncoming fire and soaked it up like the lightest of rain, tearing forward to grapple with the defenders hand to hand.

Filthy claws met honest steel and trashing forms fell about as men grappled, killed and died in a frenzy of carnage. In that madness the Traitor Marines's reigned supreme, their armour proof against the strength of mere men and their every gesture a killing stroke.

They had expected resistance, they had expected carnage but they had not expected Pyrus squad.

With a roar Toran led the charge, his hatred burning hot within him, he had fought countless foes of mankind but nothing provoked such instant searing hatred as the sight of Chaos Marines. He hated them for their betrayal, he hated them for their vile debasement but most of all he hated them for their refusal to simply lay down and die.

The Chaos Marines saw them coming and reacted with transhuman speed, the one armed with the Meltagun levelling it at Chaplain Wrethan and firing a long burst. The heat ray caught him in the chest but the instant it made contact there was a flare of holy light.

Around Wrethan's form the shimmering nimbus of a Conversion field blazed as his Rosarius dissipated the deadly energy. He stepped through the blaze and brought his Crozius down hard to pulp the Heretic's skull in one blow.

Elsewhere Furion grappled with a giant of a Marine, they wrestled together for dominance, seeking the advantage but they were too evenly matched and neither could best the other. Whichever would have proved stronger turned out to be irrelevant for Jediah stepped up and plunged his knife into the back of the Traitor's neck severing his spinal cord.

Meanwhile Novak duelled a Heretic who fought with an obscenely pulsating whip, his flashing rapier darted and stabbed but he could not break through the writhing hypnotic dance of the lash. Novak fell back step by step as the Traitor snapped and darted the tip of his lash before his face, the Heretic hissed in anticipation of his victory but realised too late that he had fallen into a trap.

Novak suddenly dropped to the deck revealing the form of Persion standing behind him with a loaded bolter; he squeezed the trigger and in a roar of fury unloaded the entire clip. The Traitor's breastplate actually held back the first seven bolts but the twenty three that followed blew through and ripped him apart in a hail of mass-reactives.

In the heart of the battle a frothing berserker swung a black axe covered in accursed runes at Toran. He screamed "Blood for the Blood God!" but Toran deflected the blow in silence for he had nothing to say to such filth.

He could feel his hatred burning and it fired him to swing his power sword in vicious counter. The filth raised his cursed axe to shatter the weapon but the Sergeant's blade had once belonged to an Inquisitor and mysterious hexagrammatic runes flared brightly as they met the warped metal.

The two of them stood there, transhuman strength pitted against transhuman strength, warp taint against shining purity. The contest seemed to last an eternity but then Wrethan intervened, sending a single bolt round to clip the hellforged axe. The Chaos Marine's grip slipped a hairsbreadth yet that was enough for Toran to lunge forwards and plunge his sword right through the debased breastplate, carving out both the Heretic's hearts.

The Traitors had fought well and had been the equal of the Storm Heralds in almost every way but they had been lacking in brotherhood and that critical weakness had been enough to turn the tide.

Yet there was one heretic still unaccounted for.

Toran spun and saw Captain Mandas being confronted by a diseased giant who dripped fat globules of rancid ooze from the joints of his armour. He wielded a rusty cleaver without regard for friend or foe and everyone so much as grazed fell screaming to the deck and dissolved into ooze in seconds.

The Chaos Marine towered over the Captain and swung wide in a horizontal slash seeking smash through his defence with brutal strength and infect his flesh. Mandas however had seen the blade's warped power and knew he could not overcome it so instead he dropped low and let it pass over his head.

He rose up with his plasma pistol shining in his hand and roared his fury as he unleashed it right into the Traitor's face. The giant stood still for moment with steam rising from the stump where it head had once been then it keeled over and hit the deck with a resounding clang.

The horde of mutants gasped to see their supposedly invincible lords fall and turned to run with their courage shattered. Yet even as they turned their cowardly backs they were overwhelmed by shotgun blasts and not one lived to escape.

The remaining bridge crew stood in shocked silence at their unexpected survival, lost in the come down from the fight. Men stood shaking and throwing up from the adrenaline wearing off as Pyrus squad policed the bodies, making sure to dig out the Chaos Marine's progenoids and crush them underfoot.

A brief moment of victory was theirs but they had failed to realise the worst was yet to come.

Many decks below their feet a spark of light flared in an empty sump, then a suddenly a slash of red light tore reality apart spilling out accursed vapours that stained the decks with the foulest stench. Through the split in reality stepped two transhuman giants, the first wore long robes over his turquoise armour, embellished with writhing serpents. His helm had four twisted horns upon it and he carried a staff crested with a three headed snake.

The second was clad in midnight blue plate, etched with jagged lightning, his helm was fanged with small unobtrusive wings on the sides and he had a pair of scarred and ragged wings folded up behind his backpack. He wielded a large polearm as long as a grown man with a serrated knife on one end and a roaring chain blade on the other, the infamous weapon of the Night Lords: a Chain glaive.

As the rent in reality closed behind them the first turned to the second and said, "We achieved entry unopposed my Lord."

The second drew himself up and said, "Well done Beta, signal the Ixion to fall back and wait outside weapons range. Then prepare a summoning ritual: let the dross keep the Imperial dogs occupied while we call forth true reinforcements."

Beta bowed and replied, "It will be as you command, Lord Vorshaan."


	6. Chapter 6

**Omni Honore: Chapter6**

In a deserted and dank hold of the ship a crime against reality itself was being committed, Beta the Sorcerer was leading a ritual designed to tear the fabric of the immaterium apart. An ornate circle had been engraved into the decking decorated with glyphs that seemed to move and change when one was not looking at them.

In the cardinal points of the circle stood eight mutated priests in blood stained robes chanting over the sacrificd bodies of captured crewmen. They had been chanting for hours and the ritual was reaching its culmination in a frenzy of ecstasy as their words seemed to make the shadows curl and reach out with dark fingers.

Vorshaan however was not listening, he was idly pacing around the edge of the chamber tossing his chainglaive up in the air and spinning it as he caught it. The Dusk Prince had lived so long and done so much that he had become jaded even to such horrors and was finding the whole proceeding predictable and repetitive.

So many wars, so many kills and so many betrayals wrought upon him and by him that this little ritual barely registered on his awareness.

He spun his chainglaive over and over in his hands practicing his lunges and ripostes with elegant grace. He finished off with a dazzling flourish then snapped into parade attention before breaking his drill. With a bored sigh he wandered over to stand next to Beta who was observing the final stages of the rite.

Vorshaan looked on and said, "Are you not done yet?"

Beta replied with the tiniest hint of condescension in his voice, "The tides of the Warp are unpredictable my Lord. It will take as long as it takes."

Vorshaan blew out a bored breath and said, "This is pathetic, so tame and so bland, how you hope to attract a horde of Daemons with this paltry offering is beyond me. Istvaan V, now there was a slaughter to be proud of, did I ever tell you I was present at the Drop Site Massacre?"

Beta's voice was a study in carefully concealed exasperation as he replied, "A fascinating story my Prince."

Vorshaan either did not notice the disdain or did not care as he continued, "Three Legions against seven, a glorious feast of horror and terror. The Primarchs themselves waging war, your serpent of a Primarch was there too… I think."

Beta was fortunate his helm meant the Dusk Prince could not see him roll his eyes as the Chaos Lord waxed on, "I was part of the orbital assault, assigned by the Warmaster himself to capture the Shadow of the Emperor, the Raven Guard's Flagship. I slaughtered my way through those weak crows and I was within an inch of taking the bridge when that arrogant cur Typhus blundered in with the Terminus Est."

Beta replied, "What a shame."

Anger touched Vorshaan's voice, "The prize was within my grasp but that bloated slime burned it out from under me! The Warmaster was most displeased, he had wanted to add another Glorianna class battleship to the war effort but instead it burned down to a hulk. My own Legion laughed in my face, they deemed themselves the Lords of Night but said I merely deserved the evening: a Prince of the Dusk they called me."

Then Vorshaan laughed contemptuously and said, "Now they are all dead and yet here I am, still breathing while they rot."

The Dusk Prince's reverie was interrupted by a sudden scream from the ritual circle as the priests realised something was wrong. Their flesh hissed and bubbled as they tried to run away but their feet had melted into the decking and they could not move. Vorshaan sighed wearily as they begged and wept for aid: even the traditional betrayal of his followers was becoming a tired cliché. Still if they were stupid enough to stand within a summoning circle then they deserved everything they got.

The air quivered and shook and for a single moment the outline of gateway seemed to sketch itself in the middle of the circle then it disappeared leaving behind veins of shimmering multi-hued smoke. The eight priests snapped straight so fast their bones cracked throwing back their heads to open their mouths and into each poured a single thread of smoke.

Vorshaan's attention was truly caught for this was not typical; this was eerily different and unexpected.

Suddenly one of the priests screamed as his body began to shed mass, growing thinner and metallic while his head began to flatten out becoming a broad double bladed axe shape. In seconds his body had turned into a massive black axe that continuously dripped blood but still with his living face embossed into the blade as he screamed in silence forever. Next to him another priest was expanding, his body swelling with red muscles and his skin turning into brass armour while his skull began to elongate and became a dog's snout.

The newborn creature reached out and snatched up the axe and growled "I am the Executioner of Khorne."

Across the circle two priests were overcome with passion and turn to leap into each other's embrace, perversely grappling with each other. Their frantic clawing began drawing blood and ripping at flesh as they thrashed in agony and ecstasy. Their bodies ran together like water and they screamed in despair and joy as they dissolved. From the gloop rose a willowy creature with gossamer skin and curving hips. Its lips were ruby red and its features eerily delicate yet it had a large horn arising out the side of its head,

"I am the Temptress of Slaanesh" it whispered huskily.

The next priest seemed to be piling on fat in seconds becoming heavier and heavier until he had to squat like some large toad as rot, pustules and sores erupted across his mottled skin. Next to him a priest was coming apart, flying into a million pieces as his mass was converted into a cloud of flies, they swarmed over the toad and the man's last sight was of his flesh becoming a cloak of insects.

The toad reached up into the dense cloud with still human hands and picked out a fat book and a feathery quill before croaking, "I am the Tallyman of Nurgle."

On the fourth cardinal point the priest was grinning, his torso and limbs seemingly unchanged yet from his back rose large multi-coloured wings. He blinked and when his eyes opened they were no longer human but bottomless pits within which stars were born and died. His smile widened and from his mouth came multiple overlapping voices of men and women all saying as one, "I am the Harbinger of Tzeentch."

The eighth priest was shrinking, becoming smaller and harder. His skin mottled and flowed becoming a strange mask shape, one half black and the other half white. It hung in the air for heartbeat then fell to the ground and rattled emptily before settling into stillness.

Vorshaan looked over the summoned beings taking in their unexpected arrival and said, "Beta I see four Daemons before me, hardly the horde of Neverborn I command you to summon."

Beta's voice was the equivalent of a shrug, "The Warp is fickle and when one calls upon it you get what you are given."

"Show respect little worm" growled the Executioner, "You stand in the presence Heralds to the great powers."

Vorshaan spoke dismissively, "I called forth an army instead I get pets."

The Executioner snarled ferociously at the insult and leapt forwards but rebounded away from the edge of the circle as if it had slammed into a wall and it fell to the floor. Vorshaan didn't move except to tap his chainglaive on the edge of the circle and said, "Needless to say we took precautions."

The Tallyman chuckled at the sight of its rival cast low and said, "What do you want of us?"

Vorshaan replied, "What my kind always want: death and destruction, carnage and suffering."

"And what do you offer in exchange for this boon?" asked the Temptress licking its lips in anticipation.

"I already told you" Vorshaan stated, "Death and destruction, carnage and suffering. Do not pretend your kind needs more motivation than that."

"Do not presume to lecture the Neverborn" snarled the Executioner as it stood up.

"Perhaps it was a mistake to call upon the Blood God" said Vorshaan, "Perhaps a stronger God would be more effective."

The Executioner roared at the insult and brandished its axe but Vorshaan merely said, "Everyone knows Nurgle's armies are the greatest."

His words caused the Harbinger to grin widely and say, "You seek to play upon our rivalries to get us to do your bidding."

Vorshaan cocked his head to one side and said, "Is it working?"

The Harbinger's smile widened as it said, "It does not matter, we know all about your schemes and plots. These Storm Heralds have no idea that you have already sown the seeds of their destruction: we have been delighted to watch them blunder about in ignorance."

"Then you will assist in this part of the plan?" asked Vorshaan casually.

The Tallyman burped loudly then declared, "Knowing that this will lead to the complete annihilation of one of the Anathema's lapdog Chapters will be payment enough."

Vorshaan said, "Then we have a bargain, the bindings on the circle will fade once we leave, then do as you will. Take the ships' crew for your amusement all I ask is you stay out of my way."

Then he and Beta turned and strode towards the hold's entrance but before they could leave the Temptress purred "And if we meet your loyalist cousins?"

Vorshaan paused at the door and said, "Corrupt them to your cause or kill them and stick their heads on poles as trophies, I do not care either way."

Then he strode out as the ritual circle began to evaporate into nothingness freeing the Daemons into the heart of the Averof.


	7. Chapter 7

**Omni Honore: Chapter 7**

Through the bowels of the Averof raced a large party of warriors, they were all armed to the teeth and had already drawn blood. Alongside them Mandas ran with his weapons drawn, auxiliary crews had been called up to staff the bridge but with the enemy cruiser moving off he had insisted on accompanying the war party.

Several times they had raced to crisis points where the ship's crew were being overrun and had turned the tide, now they moved to the lower decks. As they ran Persion was listening into the ship's vox net, his transhuman mind scanning thousands of reports in moments and directing the party to where they were needed most.

Persion was saying, "Engineerium reports that they were attacked but it has been dealt with."

Toran was keeping a sharp eye out for foes but asked, "How many more Chaos Marines were there?"

Persion replied, "None, only mutants."

"None?" asked Toran in surprise, "That is not right, there should be far more, perhaps the Ixion was undermanned."

Chaplain Wrethan spoke up to say, "Never underestimate your foe, the Traitors always have an agenda. It is usually insane but it is always there."

Toran's reply was cut off as Persion suddenly grabbed at the side of his helm and shook his head as if trying to dislodge a burr; Toran looked around in alarm and said, "What happened?"

Persion shook off the disorientation and replied, "Massive distortion on the vox-net, something is wrong with the ship's spirit. Reports of whole compartments going silent and the Astropaths are screaming of turbulence in the Warp: a tear in reality."

Wrethan suddenly spun about and declared, "Order those compartments sealed; seal them off now!"

Captain Mandas interrupted and said, "This is my ship you do not give orders here."

Wrethan fixed him his the glare of his skull helm and said, "You must act fast, this is no ordinary foe, the enemy has summoned the denizens of the Warp: you are facing a Moral Threat."

Mandas' face fell for every void sailor lived in mortal dread of the things that dwelt beyond the veil, to face them here in reality was a nightmare no man would ever speak of. He gulped and said, "I shall order all affected compartments evacuated and sealed, full Warp breach protocols."

Wrethan shook his head and said, "You do not have enough time to evacuate, seal them now."

Mandas looked up with the fire returning to his eyes and said, "I have hundreds of men trapped in those compartments."

Toran intervened with regret in his voice saying, "No you do not, not anymore, they are already dead... or worse."

Mandas' turned ashen faced he realised the truth of the situation but he gritted his teeth and gave the orders to seal the contaminated areas, effectively killing anyone inside.

Toran turned to Persion and said, "How many compartments are contaminated?"

Persion listened to the vox for moment then said, "Four and the nearest is only seven decks below our position."

Toran addressed the group saying, "We are the only force on board with any chance of halting this incursion it is up to us to act." The Marines raised their bolters but the armsmen looked terrified at the thought of the battle to come, still they had little choice but to follow as their Captain led them forwards.

Within a short span they had descended to the contaminated section and found themselves confronted by a thick blast door. The door was designed to withstand the inferno of combat and the cold of space yet it was still emanating an unearthly heat. "Make ready" said Toran, "Whatever is beyond those doors cannot be allowed to exist, Persion signal the bridge to open this hatch then seal it behind us."

Meanwhile Captain Mandas turned to look at his men and saw the dread and the terror hanging over them, the prospect of facing whatever was beyond those doors made even hardened veterans look like scared children. The Captain saw the state of their morale and knew they were useless if he did not stoke their courage.

He raised his plasma pistol as he declared, "Men, today we will march through the enemy or die trying! Stand tall, stand firm, stand proud for you are the best the Imperial Navy has to offer. If we should die then the Emperor shall see we fell not in cowardly position but in courageous battle stance!" The armsmen gripped their weapons tightly at the Captain's words and tried to swallow their fears as the great hatch swung open.

Beyond was a scene from the deranged nightmares of psychopaths, a vision of hell writ large. The corridor beyond was swelteringly hot and covered in piles of gore and offal, the shredded remains of men dripping off every bulkhead and frame. It stank like an abattoir and the air itself seemed infected with something ancient and truly foul.

Standing amid the carnage was single figure in brass armour with a dog snout for a face; it carried a black axe within which moved a human face, eternally screaming. The Executioner raised its axe and growled, "Who shall be first?"

Toran yelled, "Open fire!" and the Daemon was inundated with a hail of bolter, shotgun and plasma fire but a shimmering aura flowed around it. The aura absorbed the power of the blows and the Daemon laughed seeming to swell with power.

There was something infectious in its aura, a terror that went beyond the sheer horror of its physical presence to stir the darkest and most primal fears and hatred of men. Even the Space Marines were not totally immune, feeling its loathsome aura clawing at their mental conditioning, seeking a chink in the armour of their souls.

The courage of the armsmen broke, their weapons were useless and they faced a nightmare from the dawn of humanity. Weeping in terror they all turned to run, all save one.

Captain Mandas stood amongst the retreating tide and shouted, "Stand you craven whoresons!" but the men did not heed him and ran to the hatch, beating upon it with their fists as they tried to escape.

The Executioner screamed, "Khorne despises cowards!" as it raised a clench fist and every man who had fled suddenly started coughing and spitting red froth. They clawed at their necks as a wave of blood vomited up from their mouths and they fell to deck choking on rivers of blood.

Toran yelled to the remaining squad "Stay back, you are no match for this foe!" as he and Wrethan charged into the attack.

The pair of them lashed out with their weapons but the Executioner met them with the haft of its axe and blocked the attacks. Wrethan swung hard with his Crozius and concussive blasts of energy were released with every strike but the Daemon seemed unaffected.

It swung out with its axe and caught the Chaplain a vicious blow, his Rosarius flared to dissipate its cursed energy but the sheer kinetic force drove him to one knee. The Daemon lashed out with a kick that propelled him backwards lifting him and throwing him far down the corridor.

Toran was left to face the Daemon alone and the rest of the squad looked on in horror. They tried to find an angle but could not risk firing as they watched their Sergeant duel the Warp filth.

They traded blows at lighting speed and Toran felt his anger rising, a tide of red wrath unlike anything he had felt before. He realised the Daemon's aura was driving his own rage to unheard of heights, stoking his anger but he could not concentrate on fending off the mental assault while fighting for his life.

The axe and sword flashed and clashed, one dripping blood and dark glyphs the other shining with thrice blessed silver and hexagrammatic runes. Then Toran thrust out at the same instant as the Daemon and the weapons locked together, leaving their wielders grappling like two wrestlers from the distant past.

The Executioner looked into Toran's eyepieces and growled, "I see you little thing, you have stood on the brink before, you already walk the crimson path and Khorne calls for you. Break your chains, give free reign to your bloodlust and you shall walk the Eightfold path."

The words clawed at Toran's mind, stoking his fury and rage and his mental defences were useless for the ire came from his own soul. He could see nothing but red before his eyes as the madness swelled within him, consuming his thoughts as the Daemon amplified his anger with the power of Khorne.

His thoughts were falling apart in the red tide, his carefully instilled strategies and rationality washing away leaving only the desire to rend and tear and maim with his own two hands. He was drowning in rage like a man fighting a swift current, his own anger dragging him under to a dark and murky place in the depths of his own soul.

But then the raging current slammed into a sea wall, the foundation stone of an idea that formed the very core of Toran's self-identity: Duty.

He looked at the Daemon and saw that to yield would be the death of his very self, the death of all that gave his life meaning. Toran arose from his fury like a drowning man breaking the surface as he cried, "We are the Emperor's Storm!"

It was not a cry of rage but of purity, the focussing of his being down to a single aspect of his nature.

Toran cast off all his anger and resentments, losing all the concerns and strategies and teachings that normally formed his mind. His mind was made up of but one thought now, a truth so simple and pure that the Daemon had no hold on it: "We are HIS Wrath!"

The Executioner blinked as it lost its grip on Toran's soul and that was enough for the Sergeant to move. He twisted his blade knocking the screaming axe aside as he lunged forward to drive his sword point right at the Daemon's torso just below the gorget.

The shining blade encountered brass hell-forged armour and it did the Hexagrammatic runes flared brightly, thrice blessed silver cutting through the plate like it was parchment. Then with one mighty heave Toran wrenched the blade sideways and ripped off the Executioner's dog-like head.

He stood there breathing hard and all was silent for an instant, then the corpse fell backward to the deck.

Toran gasped for air, even his enhanced physique struggling with the oxygen debt. He looked upon the body of his foe and saw it was already collapsing into a pile of gore and there was an ethereal sense that something foul had slunk back into the Warp.

Despite the abattoir stench and cooling piles of offal the compartment somehow felt so very clean.

"Is it gone?" asked Furion lowering his bolter, Toran nodded wearily and then drew himself up and said, "Captain Mandas, it was a mistake to bring you in here, this is not a foe for mortal men to face. You must return to the bridge and order this compartment welded shut, do not open it until you have returned to dock and can have the site exorcized."

For once Mandas did not argue, truly shaken by the horror of the Warp as he nodded his compliance.

Then Toran faced his squad and said, "We move on there are yet more of these filth to destroy before this day is done."


	8. Chapter 8

**Omni Honore: Chapter8**

The decks of the Averof were awash with blood and the sounds of heavy fighting, men and mutants grappling together in a swirl of combat. Intermittent power failures caused the lighting to flash creating a sickening strobe effect and many thought they had already died and gone to hell.

Amid the carnage six giants in ceramite pushed onwards, not pausing to engage the foe though their intervention could surely turn the tide. They focussed on a single objective, a danger far greater than anything else on the ship.

Persion was feeding back reports of the situation but Toran interrupted to say, "Just tell me the Magos is secure."

Persion answered, "Confirmed, Halis reports that Castabore is sealed within her quarters, there has been no signs of intruders yet."

"Excellent, tell them to keep their guard up" said Toran, "How far to the next contaminated area?"

"Two more junctions" said Persion as the squad pressed onwards.

Swiftly they approached the great hatch and paused before it; Toran inspected the metal but could find nothing untoward. He checked his weapons and then said, "Signal the bridge and tell them open the hatch, gird your souls my brothers, there is no telling what corruption awaits within."

A moment later the hatch clanked into the ceiling and the squad dove in weapons raised in anticipation of an imminent threat. However all they found was a blank and featureless corridor, entirely missing the mutating touch of the Warp they were expecting. Pyrus squad advanced down the echoing passageway as the hatch ground shut with a solemn clang, sealing them inside.

They swept the space in silence, alert for the slightest trace of a foe and it was not long before they found the first signs of life: from a large hold ahead were the sounds of many people. Toran led the way and Wrethan, Furion, Novak, Persion and Jediah quickly took position around the hatch.

Toran risked a quick glimpse inside then pulled back, his enhanced senses imprinting a perfect image in his enhanced mind. In large concentric rings hundreds upon hundreds of crewmen and women were kneeling in rapt adoration of something, they were alive but unmoving. Completely unmoving so much so their eyes were weeping and red from not blinking. Almost as if they could not bear to miss an instant of whatever they were looking at.

In the centre of the hold was something indistinct and vague, this was troubling for Toran's recall was sculpted to perfection. Yet the image refused to settle in his mind, almost as if his psycho-conditioning was rejecting the memory to preserve his own sanity.

Before Toran could make sense of it a melodic voice called, "Don't stand out there in the cold, I've been waiting for you; come in."

The voice was eerily compelling and without realising it the squad stepped out with weapons held loosely in their grips but there was no response from the masses in the hold. Instinct made them advance in a wide spread formation yet no danger presented itself.

Inside sprawled a willowy, feminine creature lounging on a pile of boxes like it was the softest of cushions yet incongruously it had a large horn arising from the side of its head. Toran could recognise the being was aesthetically pleasing but there his descriptions ran out.

When Toran looked at the thing before him his mind went blank. The barriers instilled by his hypno-indoctrination blocked off a portion of his brain, shutting down his ability to comprehend anything other than targeting data in a desperate attempt at self-defence from the entity's presence.

Even then it was difficult to be around, a part of Toran's brain was screaming at him to pull the trigger on his bolt pistol but for some reason he couldn't quite remember why. He knew he had come in here looking for some sort of dangerous thing but could not make the mental link between that concept and the image of the odd personage lounging casually before him.

"Who are you?" the words were dragged out of his mouth without his violation.

"Me?" The strange creature purred, "I am merely a thought, an idea of temptation forced into reality but questions of identity are so boring, the real issue before us is what do you want?"

The sound of the being's voice made Toran's trigger finger itch but instead he asked, "Why do you care?"

The being pouted and said, "I want to make your dreams come true, to help you live to your fullest potential. Do you want glory, I can give you glory. Do you want worship I can give you legions of worshippers, do you want to be the most perfect warrior who ever lived I can make it happen."

Toran's mind was so sluggish now it was hard to think but behind him the voice of Furion croaked out, "Do not listen to it." His voice sounded so coarse and unrefined in comparison and yet a part of Toran's mind was screaming at him to heed his brother's words.

The entity scowled at the interruption and said, "Silence you, the Anathema's hypocritical zealotry has no place here." Yet Furion was growling now, forcing each and every word out between his teeth as he uttered, "I. Name. Thee... Daemon!"

The utterance snapped Toran and the squad back to reality, their indoctrination triggering a conditioned response to the key word. The glamour's laid on them shattered like a dropped mirror and they saw the Warp abomination truly for the first time. Toran didn't need to give any orders for the whole squad was instantly firing, bolters blazing away.

Yet the Daemon was faster, from a prone position it did an impossible backflip that threw it into the air and carried it well beyond the crowds of kneeling figures. Then the Temptress shrieked, "Kill them my sweets, they want to take me away from you!"

The kneeling masses rose as one, screaming in outrage and flung themselves at the Space Marines in an tide of human bodies. Toran met the first pair with a wide sweep of his sword that carved them apart but a wall of flesh jumped upon him and bowled him over.

He trashed his arms and kicking out to shatter legs and ribcages but more and more people kept piling upon him. He felt hands grasping at his armour clasps and someone scrambling at his belt trying to take his precious Psyk-out grenade. He brought up his knee and cracked open the offender's skull but he was drowning in bodies and could not break free.

Meanwhile Wrethan smashed the first man to approach him with his Crozius and the concussive blast forced the rest back, for an instant it looked as if he could clear some space but then the people rallied once more. Showing less sense of self-preservation than an Ork the fanatics piled upon him bearing him down with their weight. Though he crushed many with his bulk as he toppled they were able to wrest the crozius from his grasp and hurl it away.

Elsewhere Novak's rapier was dazzling whirlwind of steel, yet it was a duelling blade and had not the heft to cut through the tide rushing towards him. Persion however made the mistake of trying to blast his way free and his bolter did explode half a dozen bodies but with his guard dropped a wave of figures rushed him from behind.

Jediah was swinging his combat blade in wide strokes, severing hands and opening arteries but was pushed over by the tide of insanity. Someone levered his knife out of his grip and started stabbing down over and over penetrating his armour at the joints to let enhanced blood flow.

Of them all only Furion was able to keep his feet under him, his hefty Mark III armour giving him the traction to plough through the crowd like a bull through rushes. Yet he dare not stop moving to assist his brothers lest he be overwhelmed.

It was often said that a Space Marine was the match of a hundred men but never had Toran seen it put to the test so literally. He could see the odds against them were insurmountable and on this playing field they could not win, so he changed the field.

"Persion!" Toran shouted above the noise of the masses clawing at his armour, "Raise the bridge, order them to engage fire suppression protocols, vent the whole compartment into space!

For long moments nothing happened but then vents opened overhead exposing the room to the vacuum of space. A hurricane blew out of nowhere and human bodies were sucked away by its force.

The machine spirits of the Astates' plate recognised the sudden drop in pressure and sealed their suits closed, switching to internal life support whilst mortal men gasped like fish and clawed at their necks. They trashed and writhed with bulging eyes as they tried to breathe but there was no air to be found, in less than a minute they fell limp and still, turning blue with hypoxia in death.

The air had vanished leaving behind only silence and stillness as Toran felt the weight of the dead pressing down upon him, yet he had survived. All was quiet for heartbeat but then the Temptress purred and its voice carried impossibly through the vacuum to scream, "You are supposed to die, how dare you spoil my fun!"

Toran pushed off the corpses piled on him and made to stand up, intending to finish this once and for all but he was not quick enough today. As he rose there was a flash of light and body of the Temptress was thrown away by the blast of energy, sprawling on the floor.

Beyond was the towering figure of Furion, standing over the prone body of the Temptress with his thick Mark III plate scored and scratched. In both hands he held Wrethan's Crozius and he brandished the golden sceptre aloft in judgement.

The Daemon held out one dainty hand and cried as if it were some innocent maid about to be ravaged by an unthinking brute. The scene gave Furion pause, the thought of destroying something so delicate and beautiful seemed wrong but then he shook off the glamour and recognised it as the Daemon's last feeble attempt to defend itself.

Furion roared, "For Terra!" and brought the Crozius down in a mighty sweep that obliterated the Daemon's host body in a blaze of light. There was simultaneous shriek of outrage and laughter as the Temptress was banished and silence fell at last.

Pyrus squad stood up, all but one for Jediah lay bleeding out on the deck. Persion raced over to check his vitals then straightened up and voxed, "He is alive but his armour is compromised. His implants put him in a sus-an-membrane coma to survive the decompression; we will not be able to revive him until he can be tended to by an Apothecary."

Toran nodded in relief as Furion held out the Crozius to Wrethan and said "I shall undertake penance for my presumption Father."

Wrethan took back the symbol of his office with a glare and said, "You are not alone for we shall all undertake penance soon. We have laid eyes upon the unholy, the rituals of cleansing and purification shall be long and arduous indeed."

Toran collected his weapons and said, "Do not make plans just yet, we are now a man down and we still have two more compartments to clear. Drag Jediah out of here then prepare yourselves, we have more of the Emperor's work before us."


	9. Chapter 9

**Omni Honore: Chapter9**

The compartment was dank and humid, covered in fungal growths and dripping algae that hung from the roof. Lice and maggots crawled through the carpet of mulch and decomposing bodies, birthing, growing and dying in an endless cycle of life and death.

Into that putrid mire Pyrus squad marched, weapons raised alertly as they swept the compartment. They were wary because only a few hours ago this hall had been bare metal but now it resembled a diseased tropical swampland. The touch of Chaos was omnipresent and they were marching into its jaws.

Suddenly Persion held up a clenched fist and battle signed 'enemy sighted', Pyrus squad spread out and inched forwards, bolters locked on a billowing shadow ahead of them. It was a whirling darkness comprised of countless fat bodied flies that swirled like a black cloud and obscured in it was a single form.

The shape was bloated and toad like, covered in festering sores yet it bore a book and quill in human hands. The clouds of flies circled around it in constant motion, obscuring its outline and making it next to impossible to target at range.

The squad stalked forwards in silence but before they could draw a bead a voice echoed forth calling out to them.

"So you have come" said the Tallyman, "Nurgle thanks you for your gift of flesh."

"Silence abomination" shouted Chaplain Wrethan trying to draw a bead through the clouds of flies, "We have nothing to offer you save destruction."

The Tallyman chuckled heartily as if assumed by the defiance and said, "All flesh ultimately belongs to Nurgle, when your bodies lie decaying and rotten the gifts of the Grandfather will manifest. And that time is now."

With a wave of its quill the Daemon sent the clouds of flies racing forwards to engulf the Space Marines, Toran swung his blade to meet them and its sparking energy field incinerated dozens of insects but thousands upon thousands more followed.

Each individual fly was nothing to the thick ceramite of the Astartes plate but their numbers were staggering. Thick clouds of flies flooding the squad's respirators and blocking thermal exhausts.

Pyrus squad thrashed and crashed about trying to dislodge the flies but it was futile, they simply could not destroy enough at once to make a difference. Furion and Persion lashed about but could do little more than splat a handful of flies at a time and they were swiftly covered head to toe like the ancient kings of Gyptus.

Only Wrethan seemed to be having any success, his Crozius releasing blasts of energy that incinerated swathes of flies with each stroke. Yet he was only delaying the inevitable and could not last much longer.

Trying to seize the initiative Novak leapt at the Tallymen, seeking to cut out the heart of the infestation, his rapier was in his hand and he sliced downwards to cut Warp flesh. The thin blade carved a suppurating gash its flank yet the Daemon barely seemed to notice, the wound filling with pus and ooze to become just one more canker sore in its mottled hide.

In return the Tallyman's hand flashed out, wielding its quill like a dagger to catch Novak in the chest. Cermaite armour parted like wet parchment and the quill dug deeply into the young swordsman, spraying blood into the air to be gobbled up by eager flies.

Novak screamed as no Space Marine should scream, crying out in pain at the very touch of the Daemon's weapon and his enhanced blood followed freely, not clotting as it should be. He tumbled to the deck in a helpless sprawl and lay there unmoving as teeming swarms of black insects descended upon him.

Toran saw his brother fall and tried to move to intervene but as he did so he felt a great weight dragging on his limbs, as if he was entombed inside his own armour. Flashing warnings began to blink in his vision and with a start of horror he realised the flies were somehow draining power from his plate, infecting the Machine Spirit with the power of entropy and decay.

Toran fell to his knees as his suit failed around him and his sword dropped from his grasp, he moved sluggishly as he tried to stand up but had little energy to animate his limbs. In desperation he began pawing at the clasps of his armour and saw his squad mates trying to do the same, he managed to unlock his gauntlets and pull them free but then fresh horror swept through him.

He held his bare hands up before his face and saw they were pale and clammy, veined through with green tinged blood. The flesh was swollen badly and beneath the skin he could see writhing movement as if maggots squirmed within. He saw Persion and Furion had managed to pull their helms free but exactly the same phenomenon covered their faces, the diseased mottling of their skin spreading and intensifying before his gaze.

Toran realised the flies had contaminated more than their armour; they had infected their blood and bones with the plagues of Nurgle.

The Tallyman chuckled loudly and said, "Yes you see it now, the inevitability of rot, the permanence of decay and rebirth, no matter how long or how hard you fight your death is certain. You spend your life fighting monsters in the dark yet in as little as a hundred years will one person remember you for it?"

The Daemon's words resounded in Toran's ears, as it proclaimed, "Even the Imperium you fight for is a rotten and decaying thing, feeding the cycle of death with its endless ignorance and brutality. Entropy is the true nature of universe, why fight against it when you could embrace the Grandfather and become part of it."

The words gouged a great pit of despair in Toran for the Forty-First Millennium was drawing to a close and it seemed that humanity would not survive the next. A funeral shroud was being drawn over mankind and the very best he could hope to achieve with his life was to delay it by few scant days.

The bright shining future the Emperor had once envisioned was dead, the loyalist Primarchs were gone and in his heart he knew that they would never return. If such mighty figures could not hold back the rot what hope did he have?

He would fight and die in a forgotten thankless war, his name nothing more than a scratch on a roll of honour and there was nothing he could ever do to change that. A terrible thought welled up within him, the rot was already in his flesh so why not embrace it, why not join Chaos and live forever.

Toran despaired at the futility of fighting on and his eyes dropped to the deck in defeat but as they did so they chanced upon his fallen blade. The shining silver was yet gleaming and untouched, revealing a short inscription worked into the metal itself: "Honour Above All."

Toran took in the words and the sight of them stirred a memory deep within him, of another place and a fight that had taught him the true meaning of Honour. In a flash he realised the corruption of his flesh was irrelevant as was the inevitability of his death for he had long accepted that he would die in battle.

The only thing that mattered was that the Emperor had forged to the Astartes to be the shield of humanity and it was his honour to be counted amongst them.

Toran forced his head up and growled out, "Never filth, you will never understand that death at your hands is not to be feared. A life without honour, without purpose, that is all Chaos offers and it is a hollow prize for it is ultimately meaningless."

The Sergeant was snarling now, "From honour comes purpose and if a life is lived with purpose then death has no sting. It is not important that anyone remembers me, the only thing that matters is that we here chose to fight you and did not yield."

As he had been speaking Toran's palsied hand was straying to his belt and removed the thick canister that was bound there. In one jerky move he pulled the catch then threw the Psyk-out grenade up into the air. With a sharp pop the device detonated to spray black psychically inert particles everywhere.

The Tallyman screamed as the entire area was blanketed in a null-field, effectively severing the Warp from Realspace. The clouds of flies exploded away, driven back by the blanket of psychic static and the Space Marines suddenly found themselves able to move again.

Strength and vitality surged through Toran's limbs as the Daemon's curse on his flesh was exorcised, his armour too suddenly swelled with power restoring his mobility. The Sergeant grabbed his sword up from the ground and leapt to his feet then bounded towards the Daemon.

The Tallyman was shrieking in terror, the sheer nothingness created by the null particles was like being set on fire to a Daemon. It had been drawn to realspace by the banquet of sensation and suffering but now this sudden absence was a pain all its own.

It was the only thing the Neverborn could not tolerate.

It writhed and thrashed as Toran raced up to it and with one swing of his sword decapitated the Daemon's host, destroying its hold on realspace. The Tallyman fled back to the depths of the Warp with an agonised shriek and left real space altogether.

Silence fell upon the scene for moment and then there was the tiniest thuds of dead flies dropping to the mulch as the power of the Warp left them.

Toran sucked air into his quivering lungs then turned around and saw his squadmates standing up, their flesh already returning to normal. The Sergeant held up his own hands and saw the skin flushing pink and the green veins disappearing as his health was restored. He could feel his body burning hot as his Oolitc kidney flushed the toxins from his blood and his implants flooded his cells with strengthening hormones.

Pyrus squad had triumphed once again and they gathered together to celebrate, yet there was one who did not join them.

Novak was yet laying upon the floor, completely still and unmoving.

Alarm filled Toran and he ran over shouting, "Novak! Novak answer me!"

Furion and Persion joined him, pulling free his helm and shredded breastplate only to curse at what they saw. Novak's unconscious flesh was pale and clammy, his face puffy and his skin sprouted dozens of clustered lesions in threes.

Persion said, "Look at him, the infection burns in him and his flesh swells with putrefaction!"

Toran frantically checked his belt's medical supplies but found nothing that could help as he said, "Why are his implants not restoring his equilibrium?"

Furion answered, "I do not know, I have never seen anything like this before."

"I have" came a booming voice, they were all startled as Wrethan walked up with his Crozius in hand, he stood over Novak's body and said, "Stand aside, I must administer the Emperor's Peace."

They all stared at the Chaplain in disbelief at his pitiless words and judging tone but Wrethan only looked back in sternly as he said, "Our brother has been infected with Nurgle's Rot."

"We must kill him before the infection pollutes his soul."


	10. Chapter 10

**Omni Honore: Chapter10**

In the dank and mouldy corridor a stand-off was occurring, Chaplain Wrethan looming over the bloated and disease ridden form of Novak, his flesh turning from bloated to putrefied in seconds. The young duellist moaned in delirium for the disease was well progressed but Wrethan was determined to end its progress before it ran its course.

Toran however had placed himself between the Chaplain and his fallen brother as he said, "Father have you gone mad?"

"The Rot is in him" said Wrethan, "Nothing can stop it."

"So you will kill him without even trying to find a cure" snarled Toran, "He has fought well and loyally this is not honourable."

Wrethan stared grimly at the Sergeant then did something unexpected; he reached up and twisted his helm off. The face beneath was grim and scarred yet there was no hate or anger in him, only a sorrowful determination.

"Toran" he said his voice filled with sadness, "This is the worst of Nurgle's plagues, the infection cannot be stopped and is always fatal but that is not the worst of it. The disease corrupts the soul, if allowed to run its course it turns the victim into a Plaguebearer, a Daemon of Nurgle. Would you wish such a fate upon Novak?"

Toran reached up to wrench off his own helm, wincing at the horrific stench of decay in the air and sorrow was writ large over his face as he said, "He is my brother."

Wrethan lowered his head in remorse and said, "He is a brother to all of us and we have a duty to him. We cannot condemn him to an eternity of torment not when there is still time to send his soul to the Divine Emperor."

"Is there no chance for him?" asked Toran lowering his gaze.

"Say your goodbyes while you can" said Wrethan shaking his head sadly.

Toran wanted to protest he wanted to rage and shout but he knew the truth of Wrethan's words, Novak was beyond saving and hating the Chaplain for performing his duty was a selfish indulgence. Wrethan stepped back and Toran turned to kneel beside his infected brother, he looked into Novak's face and saw him lost in delirium and fever dreams.

Toran placed his hand on Noavk's pauldron and drew in a slow breath to say, "Farewell brother, your swift blade will be sorely missed as will your exuberance. No one felt the joy of victory more fiercely than you; our missions will be dour indeed without your boisterous spirit."

Furion came and knelt beside them as he said, "Brother you have fought honourably and well, your name shall be entered in the Scrolls of Honour. You showed us that duty need not be a wearisome burden."

Persion joined them and signed a tribal icon from his savage homeworld and said, "You die as you lived: Gloriously."

Wrethan made the sign of the Aquilla and took a ceremonial knife from his belt but Toran held out his hand said, "Allow me Father, it is the least I can I do for him." Wrethan bowed solemnly then handed over the knife with respect.

Toran leaned over Novak with knife in hand, intending to end his life with one quick thrust. He opened his mouth to say the traditional words of the Emperor's Peace but the words died on his lips as he saw something curious.

The corridor around them still bore its dank covering of mould and lice over the bare metal yet where the black particles from the Psyk-Out grenade had fallen an odd thing was happening. The ash had gathered in thick clumps and wherever it touched the ground the mould was disappearing.

It was not just dying either, the dank mould was physically retreating like a time lapsed vid pict in reverse. The lice and maggots were also fleeing in droves, leaving patches of bare metal around each cluster of sooty ash. Slowly Toran picked up a handful of clingy black particles, feeling their inert mass which went beyond their flaky appearance.

Wrethan said, "What are you doing?"

Toran replied, "I am not sure", acting totally on instinct he rubbed the flakes onto Novak face, smearing them across his bloated skin.

The effect was pronounced; wherever the psychically null particles came into contact the green veins retreated like an animal from fire. The lesions shrank before Toran's eyes and the puffiness subsided impossibly fast. It was almost like the disease itself was terrified of the null effect and retreated deeper within its host.

Everyone was astonished at the result and Toran yelled, "Quickly, gather more we can still save Novak!"

With haste the rest of the squad began scooping up the black ash, gathering great clumps of it in their gauntlets. They tore at Novak's armour clasp practically ripping off the Ceramite plates and underweave to reveal his naked form.

Novak's body was disgustingly swollen with fluids, his skin mottled and covered with trinary lesions and threaded through with green veins. The squad wasted not a moment, smearing the clingy ash all over his limbs and torso and wherever it touched the foul disease retreated in panic.

Furion rolled his brother over and they began pasting his back in the sooty flakes, even Wrethan was helping. They smeared Novak head to toe in the black substance until he more resembled a son of Vulkan than a descendent of Guilliman.

Meanwhile Toran tore out a water ration bottle from his armour supply cache and ripped it open, he then grabbed handfuls of particles and poured them in. He slammed his hand over the top and shook vigorously until the water resembled a turgid sludge but he had never seen such a beautiful sight.

He lifted up his brother's ash covered head and said, "Drink Novak, you must drink."

Novak lips parted slightly and Toran poured the black sludge down his throat. The young marine coughed and retched but the Sergeant was relentless and poured it all down, filling his insides with the Null particles.

Novak's blood shot eyes snapped open and he screamed in high pitched agony, his back arched to lift him off the floor and the rest of the squad were forced to hold him down. Novak trashed wildly then suddenly he spewed green vomit all over his front.

The squad turned him on his side and watched as he regurgitated a stream of green bile, evacuating an endless torrent of disease from his system. The resulting puddle was not still but spread and moved almost like some intelligent thing or a single celled organism moving through the ocean.

Toran watched in disgust as it oozed away from them trying to escape the psychic nothingness filling its host. Yet the cruel touch of air was burning it away and as Toran looked on it began to evaporate and disappear. Quickly the diseased filth turned to steam and finally was destroyed taking the Warp taint with it.

He looked back at Novak and saw beneath his coat of ash he was breathing clearly, his flesh was subsiding and the skin was beginning to lose his mottled appearance. Before their eyes the young marine was being restored to normal, becoming once more the vibrant duellist they knew and cherished.

Impossibly against all odds Novak had survived Nurgle's Rot: the first man in history to do so.

The squad leaned back and Furion said in wonder, "I do not believe what I just saw, no one survives the Rot but you just cured him."

Persion had a guarded tone to his voice as if he dared not trust what he saw as he said, "He is not recovered yet, his health will take much time to be restored."

Toran felt only relief though as he said, "We cannot risk leave him alone, someone must stay here with him."

Chaplain Wrethan said, "I will stay with him, I will monitor him closely, in case of relapses."

Toran frowned in annoyance and said, "Did you not just witness the same thing we did?"

Wrethan looked solemn as he said, "I appeared to witness the Emperor grant us a miracle but the wiles of the enemy are cunning indeed. This may only be a trick to lull us into infecting the rest of the ship: we must have certainty."

He saw the look on Toran's face and said, "Do not worry, I will not act rashly, I want our brother to survive as much as you do. I will be his guardian until we return to the Chapter and the Librarians can screen his soul for taint. Until then you must press onwards, the battle is not done yet."

Toran nodded in understanding and said, "Emperor watch over you."

Wrethan replied, "I suspect you will be more in need of His benevolence before this day is out, we have faced champions of three of the Ruinous powers, only the Changer of Ways remains unaccounted for. Guard your soul and remember the Daemon is a lie made manifest, trust nothing you see or hear."

Toran made the sign of the Aquilla then he stood and clamped his helm back on leaving the Chaplain watching over Novak. Then he led Furion and Persion onwards to face the final Daemon.


	11. Chapter 11

**Omni Honore: Chapter11**

Into the bare compartment swept three Space Marines, Toran, Furion and Persion each with weapons raised. The section was bare and unadorned, with no signs of mutation or corruption upon the walls. Of the crew there was no trace: they were simply gone.

Toran proceeded with his power sword raised while Furion was training his bolter into every corner. Persion too was ready but was simulataneously listening to reports from all over the Averof. As they walked he reported, "Fighting continues throughout the ship, the bridge and engineerium are secure but the gun decks are overrun with mutants, it is unclear who has the upper hand."

"And the rest of Pyrus Squad?" asked Toran.

Persion said, "Halis, Ophelian and Daite report that Castabore is sealed within her quarters and there have been no signs of intruders yet."

"Very well" said Toran, "Tell them to stay alert."

Suddenly Furion whispered, "Contact."

The squad snapped their weapons upseeing an entrance to an empty bilge before them, it was deserted save for a single figure standing alone.

Cautiously they entered the bilge and found a man in plain clothes that were non-descript and unremarkable. He could have passed for a crewman save for the large multi-hued wings growing from his back and his eyes which glittered like stars. He stood passively, hands folded in front of him to present no threat and he had a slight smile on his lips.

"Welcome" said the Harbinger as they stepped forwards, into the bilge, "I have been expecting you."

The fight to come looked easy but Toran was wary for traps, the Daemon was cunning by nature and he knew it would not be so simple. None of the fights so far had come without hardship and pain and he refused to believe this would be any different.

The Harbinger's smile faded somewhat as it said, "Nothing to say to me, how rude."

Furion snapped, "Silence filth, we have no patience for the lies of the Warp."

The Harbringer replied, "But I haven't even had a chance to say any yet, I was so looking forward to meeting you. And you can stop looking into the corners, you will not find a horde of mutants lurking there to ambush you."

Toran's suspicions flared and he doubled his scanning of the room, there was some trap here but he could not see it. He gripped his sword and bolt pistol tighter in readiness but did not engage, the Daemon would be expecting that and attacking would play straight into its hands.

Instead he snapped, "Why aren't you fighting us?"

"Me?" Said the Harbinger with a note of surprise, "I have no intention of fighting you. My kin have already tested you in soul, in mind and in body. What more could I possibly offer that would test you?"

"Be wary" said Furion gripping his bolter tightly, "This is some form of trick."

The Harbinger's smile returned as it said, "Always so concerned for your brother's well-being Furion, always the pillar of strength. Did you know if you had just been able to keep your mouth shut about the Anathema Worship then your Masters would long ago have made you a Chaplain?"

"Do not act like you know us" snarled Persion.

"Oh but I do know you" said the Harbinger slyly, "I have been watching you all for a long time; I have seen you all, witnessed your lives as they played out and weighed the possible futures that were unexplored. I have seen you Persion, hiding your savagery behind a veneer of civility as if that will make you more acceptable to your superiors. Do you really think if you cling to Toran's coattails you will be raised higher in the Chapter, I will tell you a secret: there is no possible future where you are made a captain."

Toran snarled, "Do not question our loyalties, my brothers are true and loyal, we do not seek self-aggrandisement."

"Oh Toran" laughed the Daemon, "You are most amusing, you have such potential, you can think beyond conventional doctrine but you bind down yourself down with chains of duty and honour. You have a working brain between those ears but the more you see the less you know; it is so amusing to watch you blunder about in ignorance."

"Silence Filth!" roared Furion, "You will not speak of my Brothers."

"Oh but I shall for I have seen all of your pasts and all your possible futures" said the Harbinger full of mirth "Novak little more than a walking blade and Jediah who would have become your world's most notorious serial killer had he not been scooped up by your chapter. Wrethan so convinced he is doing the right thing while leading you all astray and then there is Bylan with his dogged devotion to you, devotion that will see him killed."

Toran was confused by the Daemons assertion and could not resist saying, "Bylan the Scout?"

A moment of bewilderment crossed the Harbinger's face then it said, "Oh has he not arrived yet? Well time can be confusing even to my kind, that must still be in the future."

It shook off the moment and continued, "I have watched you talk with Halis Paur who knows more than you realise and Ophelian who secretly holds you all in contempt. Then there is Daite, your brother with his feeble visions but they will come too late in the end, poor Daite how you will howl when you witness his fate."

"Enough!" barked Toran, "Enough with these mind games, if you are not here to fight, why are you here?"

"I merely wanted to meet you, I wanted to see you in your youth" said the Harbinger, "I wanted to savour the innocence in your eyes before Vorshaan crushes it out of you."

"Vorshaan?!" shouted Toran, "What does that Traitor have to do with any of this?"

The Harbinger's smile became a leer as it said, "Who do you think ordered this attack, who sent the dross of his troops to occupy you, who did you think summoned me?"

Toran's outrage was palpable as he yelled, "The Dusk Prince is on board?!"

"Oh yes" said the Harbinger with a chuckle, "He is here to make his preparations, this little prelude is but the setting of the stage for the coming drama."

Toran levelled his blade at the Daemon's throat as he said, "You will tell me what he is planning or I will make your banishment a tale to scare even the Filth of the Warp."

The Harbinger threw back its head and laughed loudly, then declared, "You fool, it is not what he is going to do, it is what he has already done and is what he is doing right now. Vorshaan plans the annihilation of your pathetic Storm Heralds chapter and the best part is you are helping him do it."

Furion snarled, "You lie!"

The Harbinger smirked as it said, "Usually yes, what else would one expect from a servant of the Changer of Ways? Yet this time the truth is so much more delighfully painful, your Chapter's destruction looms and you have no idea it is even in motion. Watching you founder about in ignorance has been delectable and I cannot wait to taste your agony when he unveils his schemes."

"And is this the part where you offer to help us change that?" snarled Toran "Offer to save our Chapter if we only swear ourselves to your service."

The Harbinger chuckled and said, "As amusing as that would be it is but a morsel compared to the feast of calamity Vorshaan is preparing. You see that what separates my siblings from our kin under the other Gods of Chaos, we understand the concept of delayed gratification."

"Then begone foul one" growled Toran, "There is no victory for you here."

The Harbinger began to fade from sight, its skin and muscles becoming translucent around its host's bones as it sank back into the Warp but it was grinning the whole time as it said, "Victory? That depends entirely upon your definition of victory. Allow me to hasten your pedantic reasoning to its predictable conclusion and say that all Vorshaan wanted from my kind was a distraction."

Toran's organic eye widened in surprise and his augmetic one flared as the Harbinger finally disappeared with a cryptic epithet, "I look forward to tasting your despair the day you finally figure out what he has done."

Then it was gone leaving only behind a clatter of flensed bones dropping to the deck as it abandoned its host and dived into the Warp.

Persion swept for threats with his bolter but the foe was completely gone, then he said "What was that supposed to mean?"

Furion replied, "It means nothing, Daemons delight only in spreading lies, mistrust and confusion; put it from your mind."

But Toran was thinking about Vorshaan and his tactics, his love of misdirection and toying with his victims. He thought of the last time they had seen Vorshaan and what it had cost both Pyrus squad and him personally. Above all he remembered how the Dusk Prince lured them away to leave his true goal vulnerable and exposed.

Then Toran realised that he had overlooked something, he turned and began sprinting out of the bilge, the others followed him calling, "What is it?"

Toran yelled back over his shoulder, "Persion, raise the others on the vox, confirm their status now!"

Persion went quiet for a moment then declared, "Halis, Ophelian and Daite report that Castabore is sealed within her quarters and there have been no signs of intruders yet."

It was the right words but something nagged at the Sergeant's mind, suspiciously he said, "Compare that to their last transmission is there anything off?"

Persion called up the messages from his armour's logs and listened for a moment then swore loudly and yelled, "Warp Hells, it's a word for word repetition; we've been listening to a recording!"

Toran doubled his pace, cursing himself for falling for the same trick twice as he yelled, "Make haste our kin are in grave danger. Vorshaan's goal was always Magos Castabore! "


	12. Chapter 12

**Omni Honore: Chapter12**

The Magos' suite of chambers were blank and featureless, merely a space for the storage of artefacts and her portable equipment. Entrance to the chamber complex could only be achieved through a single large door, thickly reinforced and double barred against intrusion.

Behind that door three Space Marines waited, Halis, Ophelian and Daite, they had been standing for hours with weapons trained and they had not wavered in all that time. Halis and Daite bore their customary bolters but Ophelian bore the distinctive bulk of a Heavy Bolter and outside the doors were a pair of Tarantula sentry guns.

The chamber was mostly bare save for a single artefact, the rest of the Magos' devices had been secured deeper within the suite along with Castabore herself but this had been too large to fit. It was a large cube twelve foot to a side, clad in white ceramite tiles but in the gaps could be seen arcane mechanisms and eldritch circuitry engraved onto obsidian components. On the front were a series of interface ports arranged in a circle around an analogue dial which was divided into coloured segments.

The Astartes had wanted to use the device for cover but the Magos' reaction to the idea had been quite spectacular and ultimately it was her authority they had to respect. Then they had suggested abandoning it so they could adopt better positions but she had insisted they remain here to guard her precious device and the mission protocol gave them no options but to obey.

So here they had stood for hours but had seen no signs of enemies in all that time. Yet despite that their eyes had not waver from the door, that did not mean they could not talk while they did it.

Daite sighed and said, "Are we seriously going to lay down our lives defending a box?

Halis commented dryly, "Are you talking about the device or the Magos herself?"

Daite groaned at his brother's cynical black humour and said, "She built this blasted thing once, if it gets wrecked could she not just build another one?"

Halis snorted and replied, "Please let me be there to watch when you say that to an ordained potentate of the Adeptus Mechanicus."

Ophelian interjected, "We should have just knocked her out and thrown her back into her quarters."

Halis said, "First you would have to figure out whether she still has a skull to crack under all those augmetics."

Daite spared half a second to glance at the cubic device and said, "What do you think it does?"

Halis answered briskly "So far all it has done is cause problems."

"Do you think she found the plans on Caminus?" asked Daite.

"We do not talk about Caminus" said Ophelian.

"But..." replied Daite.

"We do NOT talk about Caminus" Ophelian growled fiercely.

Daite was about to reply when suddenly a light started flashing in their visors, an external perimeter alarm indicating intruders outside the door. A few seconds later the Tarantula guns opened fire spraying Heavy Bolter rounds liberally at the unauthorised presences.

They stood listening to the heavy thunder as the guns tore through ammunition at a furious rate but far too quickly there was a series of sharp bangs then silence fell. The three of them gripped their weapons tighter aware that the guns had fallen worrying fast, whoever had taken them out was skilled: inhumanly skilled.

The only logical conclusion was that Chaos Space Marines were coming through that door.

With practiced ease they swiftly repositioned to the edges of the room so as not to be caught in the inevitable Melta bomb explosion that was to come. They did not need to discuss this for it was exactly how they would have come through that door themselves. Patiently they waited, alert and ready until suddenly the attack began.

Like a time lapse vid pict the great doors glowed dull red then furnace hot then brilliant white before erupting inwards in a blaze of liquid hot metal. Ophelain yelled "Open Fire" as the squad unleashed hell, firing ceaselessly in a torrent of flames.

The first wave of mutants through the door just disintegrated, mass reactive shells blowing them apart to create a red mist of gore. Behind them piled in more and more mutants in a ceaseless wave but the defenders fired relentlessly and obliterated anything they saw.

For an instant it seemed they might hold the tide but then their bolters ran dry, they paused to reload and in that moment the Chaos Marines advanced.

Five towering brutes in midnight ceramite barrelled through the door each bearing vicious flensing knives and archaic bolters. They charged through the hail of fire as their armour amplified their war cry into howling screams, "We have come for you!"

Halis unleashed his bolter at a pair of charging foes but the brutes twisted their pauldrons around and deflected the blasts off the thick armour. The traitors leapt at Halis and tackled him round the waist, taking them all down in a scrum of beating fists and desperate grappling.

Ophelain blazed away with his Heavy Bolter, the stream of shells catching a traitor in the chest, blasted through the Heretic's armour and he collapsed with a hole the size of a man's head blown through him. Unfortunately right behind him stood another Chaos Marine who had cunningly used its brother as a shield.

Before Ophelian could fire again the heretic slashed at him with a vicious knife. Ophelian swung his bulky weapon about as a club but it was poor choice for a melee weapon and he was forced to fall back.

Meanwhile Daite was attacked by a traitor with a leering skull for a faceplate who tried to bury a jagged short sword in his guts. As the blow fell Daite twisted around and allowed the sword to scrape across his belly armour leaving a deep gouge, then he put his own shoulder into the heretic's back and added his momentum to the charge. Forced off balance the traitor was momentarily vulnerable and Daite raised his bolter to blast the enemy apart but then a new foe entered the fight.

A sudden glimpse of midnight plate and wide spread wings heralded the entrance of Vorshaan himself, his speed was phenomenal and his attack a deadly display of elegant skill. Before Daite could even defend himself a blurring chainglaive swept down and landed upon his forearms.

A scream of ruptured ceramite issued forth and in one swift move the Dusk Prince cut off both Daite's arms at the elbow. Daite fell back in agony as his Larramen cells flooded the wounds to form thick clumps over the stumps and while he was dazed a swift boot knocked him to the deck.

Then Vorshaan spun around and caught Ophelian with the other end of his weapon, the long knife stabbing deeply into his back. Vorshaan twisted the blade and Ophelian howled as his insides were torn apart, the momentary weakness was enough for the other Chaos Marines to gain the advantage and beat him to the ground where he collapsed.

Vorshaan pirouetted but did not need to intervene again for Halis had been overpowered by the pair of Chaos Marines and was now flat on the deck, held down by the brutes. Vorshaan took in the scene as the defenders were dragged into a rough row, all kneeling before the Dusk Prince. The other traitors stood behind them with bolters trained on the back their heads.

The Storm Heralds had fought well but the Chaos Marines had been their equals and Vorshaan himself had simply been beyond them. The Dusk Prince took in their status and seemed pleased by their humiliation then he turned back to the door where another figure in turquoise plate and bearing a long staff was entering.

Vorshaan faced the newcomer and said, "Beta go get the Tech-Priest, leave everything else but bring her to me alive, then find some more slaves and drag my prize out of here. If it suffers so much as a scratch I will flay you alive."

"Yes my lord" said Beta as he directed the milling mutants to surround the cubic device and search the chambers.

Vorshaan turned back to inspect his prisoners and waved a pair of Chaos Marines forward to rip off their helms. With bolters trained on their skulls the Storm Heralds could not resist and sat patiently waiting for a moment to strike back.

"By the Warp what do we have here?" asked Vorshaan with a gloating tone to his voice as the first helm came free, "Here is a face I have not seen since Sacellum, I seem to recall killing all of your squad. What was it you called yourself... oh yes Halis. That was it Halis Paur."

Halis tensed in yearning to launch a single punch but a growl from the traitor behind him reminded him of his situation and he sank back. "Oh dear" said Vorshaan with a contemptuous laugh, "Are you not happy to see me old friend?"

The prisoners merely glared back at him in silence and Vorshaan strutted over them saying, "You loyalist lapdogs have been a thorn in my side for too long, today I start the annihilation of all you hold dear. I must thank you for providing me with the means though; you have no idea how many centuries I have scoured the galaxy looking for the secrets of this artefact."

He turned to watch as the slaved dragged the cubic device out of the chamber with a squeal of metal on metal. It was swiftly followed by Magos Castabore who had been wrapped in chains and was being pulled along like some grotesque balloon.

Vorshaan pulled in breath and said, "It must be some jest of the Darker powers that you idiots stumble across the very technology I have been seeking for so long. You were even kind enough to provide a Magos to operate it for me; I suppose I am in your debt."

Vorshaan looked at his three prisoners and said, "That's why I shall only kill one of you... the other two I shall just torture."

He looked at them each in turn, Halis with anger burning in his eyes, Ophelain with a savage snarl on his lips and Daite, stunned but still defiant. Vorshaan strutted up and down, enjoying the moment and the power he held over his victims, he looked at Daite and sighed, "No sport here."

Then Vorhsaan looked at Ophelian but shook his head saying, "Too dull" then he stood before Halis and said, "You... I enjoy seeing the pain in your eyes."

Halis glared back in defiance and Vorshaan gloated at his victim's impotence then his chainglaive blurred and in one stroke decapitated Ophelian. Halis and Daite roared in denial and anger as their brother's corpse fell to the deck and Vorshaan laughed at the anguish writ large on their faces.

The Dusk Prince declared "Oh yes that is pain, that is suffering, I shall cherish the thought of this moment replaying in your memories during the long watches of the night."

Then Vorshaan turned to a pair of his Chaos marines, he waved at Daite and said, "This one is yours to torture, enjoy yourselves but make sure he is still alive at the end to tell the tale." The Chaos Marines dragged Daite's bleeding form out of the chamber into the darkness beyond as Vorshaan spun his chainglaive over and over in his hands.

Then he loomed over Halis and said, "So... How do you want to begin?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Omni Honore: Chapter13**

Through the smoking wreckage of the doors ran Pyrus squad, Toran, Furion and Persion sprinting in but pulling up short when they saw the scene before them. Laid out on the floor were three transhuman bodies, all stripped of their armour and laid bare to reveal gaping wounds.

Concern swept over Toran but he could not ignore potential threats so he ordered, "Furion guard the doors, Persion sweep the rest of the suite, I will tend to our brothers."

He raced to where his fallen brothers lay and pulled free his helm, his augmetic eye flaring red in response to his anger.

Ophelian's corpse looked like it had been mauled by a wild animal, with great gouges torn from the headless body. The wounds had clearly been made post-mortem, the heretics taking pleasure in defiling the carcass and denying him dignity in death.

Toran swore under his breath but knew there was nothing more to be done for his squadmate and moved on to the next. Alongside him lay Daite and the sergeant grimaced in distress as he saw the truncated stumps where his forearms had once been.

Daite's face and torso had been cut, slashed over and over again but they were shallow wounds meant to inflict pain rather than kill. His black carapace had been cracked and sharp needles driven into the interface ports where his armour should connect to the nervous system. Someone had sliced into his face with delicate skill creating a web of scars that he would bear for the rest of his life and as trophy had snipped off one ear lobe.

Toran swiftly removed the needles impaling his brother then placed his hand upon Daite's chest but felt no movement there, he remained there for almost a full minute waiting with baited breath. Despite knowing he should not heed a Daemon's words he could not help but remember the Harbinger's prophecy and wonder if this could be Daite's fate?

But then he felt the distinct double thud of an Astartes' hearts beating just once. Toran sighed in relief, for Daite was in a sus-an-membrane coma, his implants keeping him alive in suspended animation. Toran had no skill or medicine that could help Daite now so he went to check the last of his brothers.

Halis looked like he had been beaten within an inch of his life, his face was a massive purple bruise and one eye was fused shut with blood. It was obvious from how he was laying that the reinforced bones in his legs had been broken and healed askew, he would be walking nowhere. Also his left arm had been wrenched from its socket, a feat only someone with detailed knowledge of Astartes physiology could achieve.

Toran reached out to check his vitals but as he leaned over Halis' one good eye snapped open and gazed about in bloodshot confusion. His gaze settled on Toran and he sucked in a ragged wet gasp through swollen lips.

"Sergeant" he said in slurred mumble.

Toran looked upon his wounded brother and said, "Halis, what happened?"

"It was Vorshaan" wheezed Halis, "He overwhelmed us and took the Magos and one of her devices."

Toran shook his head in confusion, "How could he know we were here, how could he know about the artefact?"

Halis sucked in a bloody breath and said, "He must have a spy on board, it is the only answer."

Their musings were interrupted by the re-emergence of Persion who looked over at the Sergeant and shook his head sadly to indicate that Magos Castabore was indeed gone. Toran felt outrage building his in guts but held it in check, all his training demanded such anger be held until the right moment when it could properly focussed.

Toran declared, "Vorshaan cannot be allowed to escape, we must pursue him at once. Halis you are the only one conscious, can you guard Daite and Ophelian's body until we can return."

"Not with my shoulder like this" replied Halis.

Toran nodded and reached to his belt to remove a pain tab but paused as Halis said, "No, I need to be sharp and clear headed,"

Toran gritted his teeth and out to grasp the dislocated arm, Halis grimaced but did not look away as the Sergeant pulled the arm out then with a wrenching pop snapped into back into the joint. Halis' face barely twitched at the agonising pain but it swiftly passed and he flexed the arm stiffly.

Persion walked over and pressed a spare Bolt Pistol into Halis' grasp saying, "How will we find the Traitor?"

Furion called from the door, "No problem there, they left a trail a first year aspirant could follow."

Toran nodded and went to stand up but Halis hand grasped his wrist and he said, "Ophelian... they took his gene-seed." Toran looked again at his fallen brother in surprise and saw that Halis was right; under the mutilation the body bore the tell-tale signs of the Progenoids being surgically removed post mortem.

Toran thought his hatred for Vorshaan could get no deeper but this was an insult beyond the pale. The gene seed was a Space Marine's inheritance from the Primarch and his legacy to the next generation. It was their past, present and future: without it there would be no new born Astartes and the Chapter would die.

Toran swore to himself that Vorshaan would not steal Ophelian's legacy as well as his life. The Sergeant snarled "Vorshaan will not escape again, I will kill him myself at any cost, anything else is irrelevant."

He stood up and marched to the door but Furion barred his way saying, "Sergeant, what of the Magos?"

Toran looked back at him and said, "What of her?"

Furion sternly stood before him and said, "Our mission was to safeguard Castabore, if you think only of killing Vorshaan we risk her life."

Toran wanted to punch Furion and make him stand aside but could see his point for his heart warred between the twin impulses of duty and vengeance. In that moment he could not say which was the greater and he settled for saying, "We will cross that bridge when we come to it, now no more wasting time."

"We will find these Traitors and make them regret ever coming here."


	14. Chapter 14

**Omni Honore: Chapter 14**

Toran, Furion and Persion followed the trail down the long corridors and across empty junctions, everywhere they ran piles of dead crew and decomposing mutants announced the fighting still raging throughout the ship. They pushed it out of their minds as they swiftly pursued the author of this carnage, determined to find Vorshaan and stop him once and for all.

Soon they approached a dank bilge from which they could hear a monotonous chanting, they slowed down and crept to the hatch. Toran glanced around the edge and took in the scene, in the centre of the room a large ritual circle had been marked out, edged with runes drawn in blood.

Inside that circle a dozen mutant priests stood with arms raised as they chanted some arcane spell. Directing them was an armoured sorcerer with four horns on his helm and bearing a staff crested with a three headed serpent.

Alongside him there were four Chaos Marines who were clad in midnight plate, they guarded a large cube, which was twelve foot to a side and covered in ceramite plates. Almost as an afterthought Magos Castabore floated silently besides it, she was subdued as if she had been stunned and was chained to the ground like a tethered blimp.

Yet what stole Toran's attention was the winged form of a Night Lord with a fanged helm and a long chainglaive, it was Vorshaan and he was in their grasp at last. Toran felt his bile rising at the sight of the Traitor, the arrogance and superiority oozing off him but worst of all was the fact he had a canopic jar hanging around his neck.

Ophelian's gene-seed was in the hands of the enemy.

Toran leaned back and whispered, "Furion with me, Persion go left, no matter what happens we must complete the mission and if I should fall you know what to do."

His brothers nodded at his words and as one the Marines charged into the bilge, weapons raised and already firing. The bolt shells soared across the space before the heretics could react, yet it seemed that they had taken precautions.

As the shells reached the edge of the circle they impacted on a shimmering energy field and detonated harmlessly in mid-air leaving the heretic unharmed. Vorshaan spun in surprise and as the bolts exploded before him roared, "Kill them!"

The four Chaos Marines drew flensing knives and bolt pistols then charged out of the circle to engage the intruders, passing through the energy field unscathed. Toran and Furion levelled their bolt weapons and Persion went wide to create a deadly crossfire. They instinctively concentrated their fire on the largest Chaos Marine and tore him apart with a devastating salvo. The Traitor fell with ragged holes blown through his armour but then the other three were upon them.

Persion was confronted by a Marine with a pair of flensing knives that he twirled in his grip, the savage Storm Herald met him with his own blade drawn and they fell upon each other in a frenzy of stabbing and hacking. Furion's opponent fired his bolt pistol as he approached but the bolts ricocheted off his thick Mark III plate and he leapt through the salvo to land a punch to the helm that sent the heretic reeling.

Meanwhile Toran was confronted by a midnight clad marine whose notched blade was smeared with blood, the sergeant saw it was transhuman in origin and realised this monster must have been one of those who tortured Daite. Toran felt the anger rush through him and it lent power to his blow as he met the scum with a scything stroke of his sword.

Too late the filth saw the power field sparking around the edge of the blade and before he could react the sword carved through his guard and on into the armour. In a blaze of lightning and sparks Toran cut the traitor in two, leaving him to collapse in a pile of steaming gore.

Vorhsaan saw his minion fall and sighed "If you someone killed right… kill them yourself."

He flared out his wings above him and swept them downwards to propel himself through the shimmering field. He soared straight at Toran with his Chainglaive extended and the sergeant met the roaring chain weapon with the edge of his own sword. As soon as they touched its power field exploded in blaze of light and it smashed the spinning blades into splinters.

Vorshaan however didn't seem fazed; he landed gracefully and swept his Adamantium haft about to bring up the serrated dagger on the other end. With eye watering speed he launched a series of blistering attacks that Toran barely fended off as he was forced backwards step by step.

Toran could feel the anger building in him, his hate and fury powering his limbs, driving him to fight harder and never letting him relent. He could see in his mind's eye the torments heaped upon his squadmates, the good men who died this day and his own physical disfigurement at the hands of this cur the last time they had met.

He deflected a vicious thrust for his heart and launched a counter attack, angling to rip off Vorshaan's head. The Dusk Prince was forced backwards and actually seemed surprised by the strength and power of his opponent's aggression.

Toran could not stop himself yelling, "You will pay for your crimes filth!"

Vorshaan actually laughed and cried, "My, my it is that little Sergeant again, this is turning out to be quite a day for reunions… How is the eye working out for you?"

Toran snarled in outrage and redoubled his attack, his need for vengeance burning fiercely within him. In his mind's eye he had fought this duel a thousand times and he had replayed their last confrontation over and over during his battle drills. He had sparred with his Chapter's champion duellists and honed his skills for countless hours in the training cages, all to be ready when he faced Vorshaan once more.

Despite all that he could still barely match his foe, the Dusk Prince fighting with a skill and grace he had honed over ten thousand years of combat. His elegant moves made Toran look brutish and crude in comparison and he was always in the best position to avoid blows, always poised to turn a parry into a counter strike.

Vorshaan's advantage was his phenomenal speed and the reach of his Chainglaive, Toran's only real counter was the lethality of his power sword. The Dusk Prince dared not block directly and was forced to deflect and dodge, falling back where he could have struck instead. Toran pressed hard but despite all his fury could not land a killing blow and the duel was a stalemate.

Out of the corner of his eye Toran saw Furion had wrapped his arms around his opponent's neck and was slowly throttling him to death while Persion had rammed his knife up under the helm of his own foe.

The microsecond of distraction almost cost him dear as Vorshaan launched a deadly thrust for his face that the sergeant barely deflected. He fell back in desperation and it was then that he realised he could not match the Dusk Prince's skill, so he changed his strategy.

Toran dropped his guard and roared "We are the Emperor's Storm!" as he brought down his sword in an overhead sweep, channelling all his strength, fury and zeal into one overpowering blow. Vorshaan was not expecting so reckless an attack and was forced to hold out his chainglaive laterally to block.

As the two weapons met the power sword's energy field flared and in a blaze of lightning the sword cut straight through the Adamantium haft. Vorshaan threw himself backwards to avoid being disembowelled by the follow through making him stumble away and loosing his poise for an instant.

Toran wasted no time in following up his strike; he raised his sword for a final killing stroke and shouted, "We are…"

He never got to finish the cry for as he lunged forward Beta intervened, making an arcane gesture that spawned blazing tendrils of green energy. The tendrils writhed and twisted around each other as they hurtled forwards to catch Toran full on in the chest.

The force of the impact threw Toran from his feet, sending him sailing backwards to land on the deck in a clatter of ceramite as the breath was knocked out of him. The warp blast coursed through his armour transmitting energy directly into his nervous system and the sergeant could not stop trashing in agony as he convulsed helplessly.

Vorshaan regained his balance was about to leap forwards to finished Toran, holding the broken ends of his Chainglaive like two short swords but at the last second broke off. While they had been duelling Furion had finished off his opponent and was now charging forwards to tackle Vorshaan.

Vorshaan looked at his foes, judging how long it would take to kill them all but at that moment the chanting behind him reached a crescendo and he realised he was out of time. He spread his ragged wings behind him and laughed, "Too little too late" then in one great sweep propelled himself backwards to land inside the circle.

On the floor Toran's trashing was subsiding as the energy faded away, his strength was returning but he could see the opportunity for vengeance slipping away. Yet in his heart he knew that there was a far more important cause at stake: his mission and his duty.

With what little breath he had left he yelled, "Persion now!"

From the side-lines Persion sprinted towards the ritual circle and nosedived over the edge, the shimmering field had deflected bolt rounds but could not stop his mass. Like a wrecking ball he barrelled through the field and pounced upon those inside, Vorshaan spun about and raised his weapons to meet him but had misjudged Persion's intent.

As he flew through the air Persion collided with the chained form of Magos Castabore, her weight was cancelled out by her anti-gravs and his inertia easily slammed them both to one side. The chains holding her down snapped like wet string and together they tumbled out of the circle, rolling over and over in a heap of metal and ceramite.

Vorshaan roared in fury at losing one of his prizes, he tensed to leap out of the circle but pulled up when he saw Toran getting back to his feet. He looked around and saw his troops had been bested and he was outnumbered by foes.

Vorshaan sneered and held up the canopic jar containing Ophelian's gene-seed as he said, "Well... two out of three isn't bad."

Then Beta slammed his staff down on the centre of the ritual circle and in a flash of Warp light, the Traitors, their priests and the cubic artefact teleported away.

Toran was left behind to roar his denial as the Dusk Prince escaped justice once again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Omni Honore: Chapter15**

The bridge of the Averof had descended into panic, junior officers running to and fro and shouting conflicting orders at one another, Commissars bellowed threats and insults but they were not nearly enough to quell the confusion.

Captain Mandas was standing on his command dais bellowing commands as he tried to instil some order into the madness but his senior officers were dead and without them bedlam reigned. The junior officers replacing them were barely old enough to shave and lacked the force of will and decades of experience necessary to enact these orders, they were boys playing at being men.

Any Imperial starship operated on a delicate balance of time honoured procedures and a ritualised order of movement, in that environment discipline and morale were everything. Sadly the Averof's crew had seen both shattered and one man, even a Captain, could not restore it without an experienced and highly professional command crew.

High above in the galleries the ship's clergy directed the choirs to sing songs of blessing and praise to Him on Terrra but their caterwauling only added to the noise and confusion.

Into that bedlam the survivors of Pyrus squad ran, they came to the bridge in the desperate hope catching their foe, yet they were pulled up short by the sight. Toran was aghast to see the panic and confusion but it was Persion who cried, "Emperor's balls, what the Feth is happening?"

Mandas saw them coming and shouted in reply, "The Ixion is coming back on an attack run, I am trying to keep her off our stern but she has those damned Scartix engine coils, we cannot out run her!"

"You are running?" said Furion sounding shocked, "You should turn and engage!"

"I cannot" growled Mandas, "We still have boarding parties fighting across ship; we struggle to manoeuvre let alone return fire."

"What can we do?" said Toran in an attempt to help.

"You can get off my bridge!" replied Mandas.

"The colours of the Emperor's own do not run" said Toran determinedly, "Just tell us what we can do."

Mandas glared at them for a moment then relented and said grimly, "The senior officers are dead and their juniors are struggling to cope, if you can take over their posts we might be able to salvage something from this disaster."

Toran waved the squad forwards saying, "Persion get the Sensorium officers back into order and Furion lean on the helmsmen while I beat some sense into the gunnery officers."

The squad moved to their posts and quickly asserted their authority, the boy officers leapt to obey when an angry Space Marine shouted at them. In minutes some semblance of order had returned and Toran scanned the various reports from the gun decks. His enhanced mind swiftly calculated the time it would take to clear the decks and get the guns operational again but found it was just too long, the ship would be destroyed long before they could return fire.

However his keen eye noticed a single console display that had gone unnoticed in the confusion, one single ray of hope. He addressed the command dais and shouted, "Captain the guns are unrecoverable but we have six torpedoes loaded in the forward tubes and they are armed."

"Then we have yet have a chance" Mandas shouted, "Engineerium transfer all power to the manoeuvring thrusters, helm on my mark come to a new heading."

The crew rushed to obey but before they had a chance to enact the order, Persion called from the Sensorium, "Energy spike, the Ixion is firing!" All eyes snapped to the Hololith which blazed to indicate the oncoming broadside as it hurtled towards them.

The Averof lurched in space as a torrent of shells, las and plasma inundated the rear shields, lightning sparks were sent into space as they struggled to maintain their integrity. On and on the deluge came turning the shields white, then with an electromagnetic shockwave they collapsed leaving the Averof exposed and vulnerable.

The Ixion wasted no time and from its flank two lances shot forth, connecting the two ships with a tether of devastating energy. The lances caught the Averof right on her plasma engines and cut deeply within, severing power feeds and exploding containment vessels. What began as a savage thrust became a catastrophic explosion as star hot plasma spilled out and ran rampant throughout the engine decks.

On the bridge crew were hurled from their stations by the force of the explosion, the lights failed and plunged them into darkness which was filled with the confused shouting of panicked boys. Choristers fell screaming from the high galleries and made sickening thuds as they hit the unforgiving metal, snapping bones and breaking necks.

After a long moment the emergency lighting snapped on and revealed strewn bodies and scattered boys helplessly groaning and throwing up. Only the Space Marines and the Captain had retained their balance and Mandas was shouting, "Damage report, somebody give me a fething damage report!"

Persion and Toran assessed their stations and found minimal damage but the truly dire news was reserved for Furion who cried, "Critical hit to the manoeuvring systems: the helm is not responding, I say again we have lost all manoeuvring capability."

Mandas seemed to sag in on himself and he sorrowfully said, "Then that's it, we have lost, the Ixion can pick us apart at her leisure."

Toran said, "Surely not, there must be something we can do."

Mandas shook his head and replied, "Not in the time we have left."

Then he drew himself up with grim determination and declared, "Anyone who wishes to abandon ship has the Captain's permission to do so, the saviour pods will buy you a few weeks but under no circumstances allow the Traitors to take you alive. It will be far cleaner death to shoot yourselves first."

The crew looked at each other in shocked disbelief at their boisterous captain's dire pronouncement but a few of them stood up and began to file past the unmoving Space Marines in silence. Then a few more and then more, the trickle becoming a flood of desperate, fearful boys.

Yet just as the mass exodus was about to pour out of the doors Persion stood up and shouted loudly, "New contacts detected, we have unidentified strike craft on approach!"

Toran glared at the flickering Hololith and saw he was right, a score of new icons had appeared out of nowhere, perilously close and on an attack vector. He snarled, "How the hell did we not see them earlier?"

Mandas replied, "Their approach was ballistic, they powered down and drifted into position on sheer inertia."

"What can we do?" asked Toran

"Nothing, it's already too late" replied Mandas grimly, his normal flamboyance fading as he said, "The pods wont make it clear in time, all crew prepare yourselves to meet the Emperor in person. You can tell him from me that it has been a privilege serving with you and I would not trade..."

He did not get to finish the epithet as Persion shouted over him, "Match! We have a positive identification... they are not Chaos craft!"

"What?!" roared Mandas spinning around "Who the hell are they?"

Persion pointed at the Hololith where the icons were one by one turning green and shouted joyfully, "They are ours!"

Toran stared as the realisation hit him and he cried, "The Phylarch and the Choregos, they come to our aid!"

The boys huddled round the doors gasped and ran back in to crowd around the Hololith as Persion cried, "Alpha leader signalling you personally Captain, they request permission to commence their attack run!"

Mandas practically roared, "Permission granted: Give them hell lads!"

The huddled crew held their breath as they watched the bombers pouncing upon the Ixion, braving the rain of turret fire as they dived down on its massive hull. A storm of fire rose to meet them and the crew winced and gasped every time an icon blinked out, signifying the death of brave pilots even as they pressed their attack.

Down and down the icons dived as their comrades burned and exploded around them but then they crossed some invisible threshold and the bombers unleashed their missiles in flurry of contrails. The Ixion desperately redoubled its fire but it was too late, the missiles all weaved through the defensive web and hit the hull simultaneously.

A series of massive plasma explosions erupted across the turncoat ship's spine, blowing off ramparts and fusing gun batteries into charred slag. Internal compartments were opened to space spilling mutated bodies into the void as fuel and munitions detonated around them. The bombers broke off and soared away leaving the Chaos cruiser wallowing in flames as they retreated back to their carrier ships.

On the bridge Persion was shouting, "Diminished power outputs and fires detected... the Ixion is crippled!"

The assembled crew fell silent for once, every eye fixed upon the Hololith as they waited to see what happened next and as the seconds crawled byToran muttered under his breath, "Your move."

Toran knew Vorshaan had to be on board but how much was he willing to risk to see the death of the Averof. What was more important to him, his prize or the death of Pyrus squad?

Then a blip in the Hololith declared the Ixion was making its move, Persion bent over a surveyor screen and read out, "Aspect change, aspect change, Ixion is altering course... Logic engines are calculating new heading."

Long seconds passed as everyone held their breath then Persion yelled in delight, "The Ixion is breaking off and headed for deep space: she is disengaging!"

There was a ragged cheer as the massed crew felt their tension evaporate, the young men raised their arms in joy or sat down and held their heads in their hands as they tried to process that they would live another day. One of the surviving clergy began a sermon of thanksgiving and even the Commissars allowed a grim smile to crack their stony facades. The relief was palpable as the simple fact of survival settled into every heart, even the Space marines found they breathed a little easier.

Captain Mandas allowed his crew a single minute of reflection then began issuing fresh orders, "All right you dogs enough of that dammed whining, get back to your posts. We still have fighting across the decks and we have a hell of a lot of work to do before the helm is functional, then we can declare this a victory."

As the crew returned to their posts Toran and the other survivors of Pyrus squad came together to take stock, their losses were heavy and the foe had escaped. Persion looked about and said, "I cannot tell, did we win or lose?"

Furion replied, "We are still alive and prevented the kidnapping of the Magos... let that be victory enough."

Toran nodded and said, "Vorshaan escaped but we have his measure now, whatever he stole will not aid him in the long run. The next time we meet I swear he will die by my hand."

And with that they broke up and went to help get the Averof back under control.


	16. Chapter 16

**Omni Honore: Chapter 16**

The Averof was a hive of activity, crewmen rushing to and fro making repairs and restoring functionality. The decks resounded with the hiss of welding and the pounding of jackhammers interspersed with the chanting of Tech-Priests. They paced the decks as they swung censers of blessed incense and sang placating hymns to appease the wounded spirit of the ship. They stepped over the corpses of dead crew with little concern, deeming organic components to be easier to replace than revered mechanisms.

Hustle and bustle was everywhere yet high on the spinal access corridor the crew gave a wide berth to three figures conversing by the armourglass windows. One was the ship's captain, the other was Sergeant Toran standing with his face exposed and the third was the floating form of Magos Castabore.

Castabore was speaking saying, "This is unacceptable, I demand we continue our journey to Mars."

Mandas replied firmly, "Magos we have sustained crippling damage and must return to the docks of Tectum, the convoy has been handed over to Bentus sector's fleet and we have new orders."

"Unacceptable" repeated Magos Castabore,"I was guaranteed safe passage to Mars."

Toran stepped in and said "Magos this attack was intended solely to capture you and your artefacts, clearly the archenemy have identified you as a personage of great importance. We must return you to a secure location before they try again."

Tech-priests were supposed to be above vanity but the appeal to her ego seemed to mollify her somewhat but still she said, "Then I will not be able to present my discoveries to the Fabricator General."

Toran replied, "You are alive and free to make more discoveries, sometimes one must take what victories one can and move on."

Castabore snorted and said, "Many more 'victories' like this and I will have to re-evaluate our relationship."

Then she spun about and drifted off with a faint hum of anti-gravs, the pair of men watched her depart and Mandas said, "What an odd creature, even for a Techpriest. Tell me did you ever pry out of her what it was Vorshaan stole?"

"She remains silent on the matter" said Toran, "I have been unable to get her to release that information."

"Is that not dangerous?" asked Mandas, "We have no idea what the Traitors intends to do with the device."

Toran replied, "I cannot force her to tell us and if there is nothing to be done then there is no point wasting effort worrying about it. But tell me what comes next for you and your ship."

"We are returning to the Fleet Headquarters at Tectum" said Mandas, "The Averof requires a full refit and the crew must be taken care of."

Toran raised an eyebrow in puzzlement and Mandas continued sadly "I have received an Astropathic communique from Lord Admiral Dousmanis himself, he says we must prepare to receive an Inquisitorial delegation before we are allowed to berth. They are coming to... inspect the ship and crew."

"Ah" said Toran understanding perfectly, the Averof had felt the touch of the Daemonic and was tainted inside and out. Every deck would have to be ritually cleansed but the mortals aboard would face far sterner judgement.

Captain Mandas probably had the rank to survive the coming inspection but anyone else who had seen even a glimpse of the unholy would be mercilessly purged. A great many of those who had seen nothing would be purged as well just to be sure. Toran guessed barely half of the crew would survive the coming of the Inquisition and most those would be the essential crew with valuable skills.

He wished he could protest the callous policy but could not, he and Mandas both knew that one corrupted soul could spread the taint to others. Whole stellar systems had been lost due to a single moment of weak pity.

Quietly the pair of them began strolling the corridor, passing rushing crewmen and Mandas asked, "What of your own men?"

Toran said regretfully, "I lost a proud brother to the foe and have three more in the Medicae suite, Daite and Jediah will be remaining in their comas until we return to our Fortress Monastery. Halis however is climbing the walls; if they don't discharge him soon he will tear that place apart."

"Some good news then" said Mandas, "And what of your other man?"

"Novak?" replied Toran, "Physically he has made a full recovery but he is isolated in a quarantine chamber. Chaplain Wrethan stands guard night and day, he has sworn to continue to do so until our Librarians can screen his soul and declare him sound."

"Well I cannot fault your Chaplain's dedication" said Mandas, "I have to say the Imperial Navy does not have a particularly high regard of your Chapter, we have a turbulent history, but you and your squad have been exceptional."

"The Emperor made us to excel" replied Toran trying to sound humble, "Your crew also performed well, for mortals."

Mandas shook his head and said "The auxiliary bridge crew fell apart; I must schedule more strenuous drills from now on."

Toran was surprised by the frank assessment and said, "My squad would happily volunteer our services while on board."

Mandas actually laughed at that and said, "No offence but if I go about letting Astartes run my bridge I would be hung, drawn and quartered by the Admiralty. No you will remain my honoured guests until we pass by your homeworld and you can return to your Chapter."

The words made Toran pause and he turned to gaze out at the distant stars; Mandas came to stand by him and asked, "Is there something else?"

Toran sighed and said, "It's just that I had hoped to see Terra, just once before i die."

Mandas grinned and said "Sergeant I have seen Terra, trust me you are not missing anything."

"You have seen Terra?" Toran asked in astonishment.

"Yes" replied Mandas, "And you will never find a greater cesspit of liars and backstabbers in your life."

Toran was taken aback and retorted, "And yet we are sworn to serve the High Lords and the Emperor."

Mandas waved away the concern and said, "Let them worry about politics and power, all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer by."

Toran found it hard to argue with the sentiment and together they gazed out of the viewportal and watch the distant stars glide by.


	17. Chapter 17

**Somewhere, Somewhen**

In the depths of Warp Space there was a defiled Forge-Fane, its vaulted arches and long naves twisted and distorted by insane mathematical geometries that should not exist. Horrible twisted things lurked in the shadows and Vox horns blared scrapcode over the gathering of priests.

They wore dark robes that bulged in loathsome ways, hinting at blasphemies to the Omnissiah and all the tenets of Mars. For these were the accursed and despised parodies of the Tech-Priests: the Dark Mechancium.

The Hereteks swayed and chanted in a ritual circle around a single artefact which was large cube, twelve feet to a side and covered in white Ceramite plates. In between the gaps could be seen obsidian mechanisms and circuits so delicate that they were barely ever seen in the brutish forty-first millennium.

Disgusting fleshmetal cables had been driven into its interface ports which led away to throbbing and oozing cogitators placed in unholy configurations around the room. Between the logic engines were strange lumpy things, disgusting fusions of flesh and metal. They might have been devices or they may have been assistants, it was impossible to tell.

Overseeing everything was Vorshaan, standing raptly to attention as the ritual reached it culmination. His helm was off to better see every detail but he ignored the screaming and thrashing Magi to stare solely at the device.

On the front of it was a large analogue dial which was slowly creeping out the green segment into the yellow. As the power increased a vicious grin crept over Vorshaan's palid face, revealing sharpened teeth with black gums and a savage glint in his eye. He gloried in the next step towards his goal as the device came to life but then it was swiftly wiped out.

There was sudden bang and an explosion of sparks as the device flared blue light from within and sent devastating feedback through the interfaces. Priests wailed pitifully and thrashed at the device but could not stop the various cogitators around the room bursting into black flame. Several acolytes were caught in the blazing stacks and fell thrashing to the floor as daemonic faces leapt and danced in the fires consuming them.

Vorshaan growled in disgust and looked contemptuously upon a black clad adept who was grovelling before him, then he snarled "What went wrong this time?"

The adept cowered and said in a mushy voice that did not sound quite human, "It is not our fault, the artefact is highly counter-intuitive and resists our attempts to break its will. Its entire function is to enhance and invert a universally accepted process, creating a stable reaction is challenging."

Vorshaan did not seem appeased and said, "Tell me, how many of your predecessors have I killed so far for failing to complete this simple task?"

The Adept replied, "Six point seven six three."

Vorshaan actually cocked an eyebrow at that and said, "Point seven six three?"

The adept replied in all seriousness, "You ordered your torturers to keep the fourth Adept alive and in agony for as long as possible, by our calculations at the current rate it will take another four point nine years for him to die."

Vorshaan growled, "Ah yes and I seem to recall saying afterwards I would kill one of you for every further failure."

The adept shrunk back and wailed, "My lord it is not our fault, without understanding the theoretical principles the device operates upon we are reduced to brute trail and error; no better than those blinkered idiots of Mars. I assure you though we are making progress, the device will be made operational."

Vorshaan leaned forward and his terrifying visage made the acolyte quiver in despair, then he said, "Well you had best get back to work then, for your own sake there had better be no more set backs."

The Adept looked like it was about to piss itself in fear and then turned back to the ritual circle shouting at its subordinates and trying to appear busy. Vorshaan leaned back and enjoyed the scent of fear in the air but was distracted by the arrival of two more armoured figures into the fane.

The first was the Sorcerer Beta who was carrying his staff, with long jade robes swirling around him as he moved. The other was a giant even for a Space Marine, bearing a double bladed axe that he gripped in broad shovel like hands. His armour was turquoise and decorated with writhing serpents and chained 'A' symbols, yet there was a brutality and directness to his gait that belied the sly nature of the XXth Legion.

The pair approached the Dusk Prince and Beta bowed low yet there was hint of condescension in his voice as he said, "I see you have had another setback my lord... How many Priests did you kill this time?"

"None", Vorshaan replied, "It pays to never be too predictable but do not concern yourself with my work, you should be more worried about your own, how is the failsafe progressing?"

Beta replied with a trace of smugness, "The Biologis adepts report the work proceeds on schedule, it will not be fast acting but once begun it will be unstoppable. But that is not the reason that I am here."

He gestured to the warrior standing besides him and said, "I present the fruit of our labours, the offspring of your trophy."

Vorshaan looked the giant up and down and said, "Only one?"

Beta's voice was the equivalent of a shrug as he said, "As we suspected the loyalist gene-seed was weak, all the recruits died during training, all but this one. He has surpassed every trial and test we could devise, he will be a worthy addition to your forces."

Vorshaan did not seem convinced and said, "Are you sure, he is genetically our foe, will he fight his own blood kin?"

Beta replied, "I assure you his psycho-indoctrination was rigorous indeed, no one thirsts more for the destruction of the Storm Heralds than this warrior."

Vorshaan sighed and said, "Well he will have to do."

He addressed the brutish warrior for the first time and said ,"So what do we call you then, no wait let me guess... You are Alpharius."

The brute shook his head and growled, "My name is Gamma."


End file.
